


Love The Unintending Rebel

by VitaeLampada



Series: Soul Possessions [6]
Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Baby Half Vulcan, Flirting on the bridge, Multi, Nyota gets more jewellery, Replicator lingerie, STID without arguments or tears, Vulcans and Cinnamon, What Really Happened During the Nibiru Mission, Where is Sarek?, exchange of vows
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-22
Updated: 2018-10-14
Packaged: 2019-05-27 01:42:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 22
Words: 53,049
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15013925
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VitaeLampada/pseuds/VitaeLampada
Summary: Part 6 of an ongoing Spyota/Spuhura romance.  This fic gets fewer hits -- maybe some people think, "OMG, it's about Star Trek Into Darkness and that fight between Spock and Nyota", and worry they will get a sad story.Not true.The title is the clue -- this is about characters doing things they never believed they would do because of love, and that includes Spock and his baffling insistence on being left to die inside an active volcano.  Expect the unexpected.   In my usual fashion, this story will make random references to events in Parts 1-5, and so I recommend reading the series from the beginning.





	1. 'That' Look

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please see the note at the end of this chapter for the definitions of the Swahili words and phrases used. I don’t want to put them here and give anything away.

Nyota picked up her PADD from the kitchen table and reviewed her list one last time.

 _Packing boxes sealed and labelled_ – check.

 _Box labels scanned and sent to Starfleet Operations_  – check.

 _Freezer unit defrosted, cleaned, and disconnected from power source_ – check.

 _All loaned items accounted for and identity labels scanned_ – check.

 _San Francisco contact details messaged to her ‘Family’ list_ – check.

 _Thank you gift ordered for Zuri_ – check.

Satisfied, Uhura wiped the perspiration off her forehead and noted the time: sixteen hundred hours, eleven minutes.  There was time to shower and change.

In their bedroom, she took her toiletry bag out of her suitcase and rummaged (carefully) through her folded things, in search of clothes she probably would not get to wear again until ...

The sentence was impossible to finish. 

But the garments themselves were not difficult to select.  Nyota chose the white crinkled paracotton dress, Gaila’s astute selection from eighteen months ago.  Underneath it, Nyota would wear her white eyelet bikini – number twelve by Spock's reckoning.  He maintained an inventory of the swimwear she had acquired since their move to Dar-es-Salaam in January.  It was his way, and made sense, since almost all of them were his purchases.

After showering, she slipped the dress over her head and pulled the ruffled neckline off her shoulders.  Her flip flops, kicked aside, had landed under the bedroom window.  As she put them on she peeked through one of the diamond shaped openings in the ornamental screen and saw him, crossing the Academy athletics ground, striding across the lanes of the track he used for exercise every day. 

_I must take a photograph tonight, before he gets back in uniform._

Or she might try and persuade Spock to continue to wear a kanzu, now and again.  The ultramarine one he put on that morning had been saved for their last day in the city, because it was her favourite.  Perhaps he would consider wearing one to meditate.

She set the table while she waited for him to reach Mitende Court and take the lift up to the fifth floor.  When the apartment entrance opened, she was standing on her tiptoes to reach the bowl above the replicator, containing their last two plantains. 

“ _Karibu nyumbani mlibwende_ ,” she called out, setting the bowl on the kitchen counter near the leftover pilau, and bending down to open the bottom drawer and pull out the cutting board.

She heard his footsteps approach and stop close behind her.  As Nyota straightened her back, Spock’s hand appeared at her right side.  He clasped the edge of the cutting board, pulled it out of her grip and put it back in its original place, closed the drawer.

“Not hungry?” she asked as she turned round.

But in a split second she spotted his dark, dilated pupils.  They were level with her bikini bottoms.  His mouth had opened slightly and both his nostrils flared.  His hand ran lightly down her dress and when it reached the hem the fingers scrabbled for a hold on the fabric.

He tipped his head back and met her eyes with _that_ look.

“Spock,” she teased him, “have you been walking on the wrong side of Msasani Road?”

The hand that held her dress also seemed to need her inside leg for support.  Where his skin met hers (the knuckle of his index finger) there was subcutaneous pressure she could feel changing her, injecting a hot volatility.

In a velvet voice, Spock replied.

“I have allowed myself to act on an emotion, which I believe Terrans call nostalgia.”

He let go of the dress and held her leg instead.  _Nostalgia_ , she thought, while the heat wave rose past her knee and thigh and she felt like a lit fuse burning its way to ignition point.

“Faraja and Mercy?” she asked, unable to keep a libidinous shudder out of her voice.

Spock smiled.

Two women ran a spice shop in the Msasani market.  Fastidious, they sealed off their wares from the damaging effects of light and heat.  Their premises resembled the interior of a cave, with dark painted walls and temperature controlled spice barrels accessed through porthole windows.  But they were astute enough to know that colour and scent attracted patrons.  So they draped vivid fabrics around the barrels and fitted atomisers into the awning outside, which periodically sprayed a mist of essential oils at passing shoppers.

Nyota reached down and tousled Spock’s hair, caught a whiff of cinnamon.  So did he.  His head ducked underneath her dress.  In the next instant she became pregnant with him, her skirt distended.  He was sucking on her belly button.

Nostalgia.  Faraja and Mercy had no idea what beautiful havoc they caused.  Two new customers came to visit them in January and got no shopping done.  Somehow Spock restrained himself until they returned to Mitende Court, but he locked the elevator doors and they copulated on the floor. 

Now, the transfer of his uninhibited heat had turned her into a furnace from stomach to knees.  Dinner could wait.

Between gulps for breath, she begged him for help before her legs gave way.  Spock laughed.  His hands coursed up her thighs and hips, clamped her waist.  When he sprang to his feet she yelped and put up a mock struggle by kicking her airborne feet.  Spock's head pushed through the top of her dress and both her flip flops went missing.

“Commander,” Nyota wrapped her arms round his neck.  “You put me down this instant!”

All part of their regular intimate games.  Spock began a gentle stroll round the room, pausing at the kitchen table (set for dinner, therefore not enough space) and again at their sofa (cushion covers stripped and being cleaned for the next tenant).  The jute matting in their entry way produced the kind of friction burns he enjoyed.  But his warm weather clothing never displayed his upper back or lower legs.

Spock huffed with consternation, his breath warming her cleavage.

“Our bed will do fine, _mtoto_.”

She turned her hands into claws, planted them on the top and back of his head and gave his scalp several seconds of furious and vicious scratching.  His gratitude expressed itself in a rhythmic series of grunts.  That done, they continued into their bedroom.

There was one last pause, as they came level with their suitcases, for the ceremonial removing of the white dress.  Removal of the kanzu, however, was not permitted.  Nyota stipulated that Spock could only take off his shoes, socks, trousers and briefs – nothing more.  She sat on the edge of the bed, where he had set her down, and watched the process with relish.

When he was done she said, “Come stand here,” and pointed between her parted legs.

That placed his hips at her eye level, and the kanzu covered point of his erection near her mouth.  Spock became the recipient of _that_ look, so he could know how good it felt.  Then Nyota scooped up the hem of his robe, and put her head inside.

The last of the evening’s sunlight filtered through the blue cloth, and cast his body in a paler version of the same colour.  Nyota nosed her way up Spock’s left thigh, kissed the hard base of his _lok_ and communed with his skin and coursing blood.  They told her everything.  She did not need to see in order to know that his mouth was open while his eyes were half closed, or that he had stained the kanzu with the clear secretion from his Cowper’s glands.

He was also evaluating (badly) how much more of this stimulation he might enjoy before he could no longer control his physiological response.  Nyota had the better estimation.  At the appropriate moment, one of her hands felt its way down to her hip and untied that side of her bikini bottoms.  The other hand lifted his robe clear of her head.  She kept her grip on the kanzu so she could pull Spock on top of her as she sidled backwards over their mattress.

He came forward eagerly, filled her mouth with his tongue but left her _uke_ empty and aching for contact.  His seeping _uume_  was in the wrong place, drawing a wet line across her stomach.  Nyota tried to push against his shoulders, but could not budge him.  It left her no choice.  She had to reach between their bodies and grab what she wanted.

Kissing stopped.  Spock got his breath caught in his throat, could only whisper, “ _Tamu--,”_

“ _N_ _ijazeni sasa_ ,” Nyota pleaded, just as softly.

Of course it did not really matter if that first, tight entry into her body was more pressure and friction than he could withstand.  Uhura lifted her feet in the air and enjoyed how his weight pushed her deep into the mattress while the pulse of his release rocked her gently.  Once would not satisfy.  Spock would be as hard when he finished as when he started, and then they would see how long she could hold out.

***

Perhaps, Spock considered, he might continue to wear a kanzu, now and again.

It was an eminently well-considered garment.  Much like the Vulcan _pelal_ , it covered the body well and the fabric for its construction could be heavy or light, to suit the temperature.  With the addition of a jacket, it became suitable formal wear.  The loose-fitting design made it ideal for meditation, or, in this instance, for clothing two bodies at the same time.

Nyota did not seem troubled that this robe, which she favoured, was now very wrinkled and stained.  She had rolled him onto his back without regard to how the cloth fell, except that it leave him naked where she intended to cover him.  He was little better.  His hair still smelled of cinnamon and it was at his insistence that she rose up on her knees, after he had ejaculated a third time, so he could watch their combined fluids drip down her inner thighs.

After that she unfastened all the buttons down the front panel of the kanzu, lifted the skirt of his robe and crawled inside.  Her head came through the neckline and all her wetness slicked his stomach.  They remained together inside this casing and murmured their conversation during the gaps between lingering kisses.

“Still not hungry?” Nyota asked.

After a period of consideration and wet nuzzling against her cheek, he replied, “We are an hour and twelve minutes past our usual mealtime.”

“And whose fault is that?”

“Faraja Ndulu was offering cups of _chai masala_ to customers who entered the spice shop.”

“You didn’t ...,”

“I did not.  Though initially, that was how I intended to expose myself to cinnamaldehyde.”

“But the atomisers got you first.”

“Indeed.”

She pressed her nose into his hair and inhaled.  “It’s fading now,” she said.  He felt a sudden sadness pass through their touching skin.

“What has made you unhappy?”

Unhappy or not, Nyota kissed him on each eyebrow.

“Oh, maybe I’m nostalgic too.  I have loved my time at home … at home with you.”

It was a poignant choice of words.  One year ago he had almost proposed marriage.  All the intervening events considered, he needed to decide when and where it would be most appropriate to make a second attempt.

“After this it gets serious,” Nyota went on.  “We will both be commissioned officers, and there won’t be an appropriate way to flirt on the bridge.”

*** 

What had she said before they left Tanzania?

_There won’t be an appropriate way to flirt on the bridge._

When it came time to launch, the entire crew was on such a high.  Their maiden voyage.  Then the turbolift opened, and Jim Kirk and Spock performed their first double act, staging a repeat performance of the conversation they’d had after the Academy graduation ceremony.  Everyone smiled.

But Nyota had the widest and brightest grin of all, because when Spock passed her on the way to his workstation he gave her _that_ look. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Swahili words and phrases used in Chapter 1:
> 
> Karibu nyumbani mlibwende – Welcome home, handsome  
> Mtoto – baby (used here as a term of endearment)  
> Uke – vagina  
> Uume – penis  
> Tamu – sweet (used here as a term of endearment)  
> Nijazeni sasa – fill me now
> 
> Chai Masala - not a Swahili term, but used in Tanzania to refer to sweet, milky tea brewed with Indian spices, including cinnamon.


	2. Feeding Time

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> With a few exceptions, the Vulcan words used in this chapter are my own inventions, because I could not find terms for units of distance or states of consciousness, which I wanted to describe. All words were sourced from the Vulcan Language dictionary at https://www.starbase-10.de/vld/ -- and many thanks to the people who provide that resource.

Through the bond, Sarek was informed that T’Praa stirred in her sleep, and would wake soon. 

And so he began the process of _ne’le_ , taking each step in the descent of his consciousness from the heightened state of _s’thaupi_ down to _ku’li_ , the lowland of mundane perception, and achieving each of these stages in the time proscribed by Surak.  After that his eyes opened. 

The nature of his surroundings had become familiar.  There was no disorientation, as had occurred when he arrived, when the end of meditation was followed by one point six seconds when his brain misinterpreted the visual signals it received and thought he was drowning. 

The nature of his situation, by contrast, remained problematic.  Whenever Sarek began meditation his mind made this same sequence of observations:

  * It calculated the number of days since his homeworld had been destroyed.
  * After this, it considered the few days he had lived on the new colony.
  * Finally, it compared the second total with the length of time he had resided here, a guest on Azati Prime, living below the surface of the Jarran Sea in roe clusters constructed by the Xindi Aquatics for visitors who could not breathe under water.



The result of these considerations was inevitable.  Sarek could not say with certainty that he was a citizen of anywhere.  After decades of diplomatic and administrative service, where his belonging had been both privileged and unquestionable, this new status appeared difficult to process.

Hence the depth of his meditative state.

Sarek stood.  Through the transparent outer wall of his egg he watched as the two Xindi officers charged with his protection swam closer to him.  He nodded once, and they emitted a noise using their gills.  This created a vibration through the water which he felt underfoot.

Through the bond, Sarek was told that the guards enquired after his health and the health of the infant.

“Computer,” he addressed the translation systems, “Please inform my guards that both of us are well.”

Then he requested an opening in the membrane of his egg, to allow him to walk into other sections of the roe.

T’Praa slept in an egg surrounded by other eggs.  Access through her membrane was limited to three individuals – her mother, himself and Narjan, the Arboreal attaché assigned to their case.  To the best of their knowledge the baby girl’s existence remained a secret known only to the Xindi Council.

Sarek bent over her crib.  T’Praa lay on her back and her dark eyes blinked rapidly, suggesting that she had opened them at the sound of his entry and was working to achieve better focus.  But she recognised him.  Her legs and arms stirred, flexed at the joints.  And she made a gesture that was new to her.  Her knees straightened and her feet extended as if she wished to use her toes to feel the front of his robe, which billowed over the side into her bed.

He reached down, used his hands like scoops to slide between the sleeves and body of her gown and secure a grip on her back.  Then he lifted her.  Once he had placed her chest against his left shoulder that same hand could move under her body to provide her with a seat.  It left his right hand free to adjust the bonnet on her head, which had been pushed a little out of place.

His fingers shifted to the baby's face to initiate a meld.  This was a frequent practice which allowed him to compare her mental development with Spock at the same age.  At five months old his son became more acutely aware of his environment; his mental and emotional responses engaged more specifically and the source of his reactions was clearly visualised.

T’Praa was imagining her bottle, and the taste of its contents.  She made a vocalisation.

“Tha!”

Sarek pursed his lips in consideration.  She had almost spoken the Vulcan word for milk, which was acceptable.  Spock had also made attempts to speak, and by six months he had a vocabulary of thirty-seven words which he articulated well.  His ability, more advanced than in human infants, led Amanda to reconsider her periodic lapses into ‘baby talk’, a dialect of altered pronunciations which confused their son.

Sarek ended his meld.  He carried T’Praa to that part of the egg where they began their days.  And he explained aloud how he would create her formula in the replicator, after which they would sit together in the chair where she was usually fed.

When he said the word for chair – _ku-san –_ she repeated it perfectly.

“That is correct, _”_ he told her.    

He let her suck on the hood of his robe while he gave the replicator instructions.  As the bottle materialised, Sarek felt the bond open a third time.  And he perceived regret.

The sensation was heavy, like clothing weighed down with rain and no longer able to provide warmth.  But the feeling was brief, and when withdrawn it left suddenly and completely, not lingering in the way human emotions did.

Once he had settled in the chair, with T’Praa intent on ingesting her breakfast, Sarek let his thoughts reach out.

 _“Speak your mind, T'Shin,”_ he urged _._

The bond remained free of emotion, but the response he received implied concern.

_“I calculate there are only twenty-one different objects inside this egg which T’Praa may learn to identify.  This is insufficient stimulation.”_

_“We will need to formulate a programme of education which compensates,”_ Sarek answered.  _“I intend to interrogate the computer system for suitable material.”_

_“An inferior substitute for experience.”_

_“We may also replicate objects to show her.”_

_“She has no concept of the natural world, of climate or other living things.  How many plant species had Spock seen at her age?”_

_“An unhelpful comparison.  Spock saw many plants because Amanda cultivated many species indoors, in addition to her collection of cones and seed pods.”_

_“Nevertheless, T’praa has no access to an environment different than this egg.”_

_“I will consult with Narjan.  It may be possible to arrange private visits to the Aquatic hatcheries, or to some remote area of forest.”_

After he said this, the bond fell silent.  Since the connection had not been closed, Sarek waited -- waited until the silence became unusual, a curiosity.

 _“Is there more you wish to say?”_ he asked.

T’praa had milk dribbling down her chin.  He used the hem of her gown to clean her face.

 _“We will receive more bad news,”_ came the eventual response.

There were advantages when one’s psi bonds included the katra of a deceased Vulcan.  Preservation of the soul required a receptacle or body, but what the katra could perceive was not limited by that container.  Clearly, T’Shin had infiltrated the communications network inside the roe while Sarek had been meditating, and learned something.

 _“Continue,”_ he said.

_“A message awaits you from Ambassador Spock, informing you that the Vulcan High Council have issued an order for your arrest.”_

_“On what charges?”_

_“Neglect of duty, with specific clauses relating to your diplomatic office and reproductive obligations.”_

Sarek knew he could dismiss the first charge.  The second, relating to Order 13.4.4 issued after Resettlement, made it mandatory for all pure Vulcans to have their genetic profile vetted and approved.  If he were approved, Order 13.4.5 stipulated that the High Council could assign him a bondmate.  This was unlikely, given his age.  It was more probable that Order 13.4.6 would require him to extract and freeze his sperm for the purpose of inseminating the surviving priestesses, who had committed themselves to lives of perpetual pregnancy in order to repopulate the colony.

T’praa had finished her feed.  Sarek tried to pull the bottle from her grip, but the little girl showed great interest in manipulating the object and putting other parts of it in her mouth.  He allowed this.

 _“That being the case,”_ he said to T’Shin, _“we can be certain of a visit from Narjan shortly.”_

_“Agreed.  But it is unlikely we will discuss visits to the Aquatic hatcheries.”_

_“Is this news the cause of your earlier regret?”_

_“No.  This news caused me some anxiety concerning T’Praa.”_

She referred to Order 13.4.7, which forbade any Vulcan from producing offspring with non-Vulcans.

_“I will not allow any harm to come to her.”_

_“I am reassured by your words.”_

_“Then what do you regret?”_

_“That I am no longer alive, because I would claim you for a mate.  There is no order which forbids this.”_

_“Tetov’yth T’Shin, had you lived, you would not be capable of conception.”_

_“That does not concern me.  I would permit a priestess to bear you children in my place.”_

_“Then why would you mate with me?”_

_“For the same reasons we mated forty years ago, S’chn T’gai Sarek.”_

Their bond changed.  Where it had been a conduit for silent conversation it became a projection space for the replaying of their combined memory.  T’Shin introduced her sensory and thought footage from his visit to Starfleet Africa in January of 2219.  She had been asked to accompany him to a local school, the one Nyota would attend many years later.  She admitted how she envied the techniques he employed, as a diplomat, to prompt more constructive responses from Terrans.  Around you, her recall suggested, humans did not appear uncomfortable or hasten to end any encounter.

Sarek had no such impression of himself.  Though he had no memory of causing noticeable offence to the humans in Dar-es-Salaam, the visit had been difficult for him, as she already knew.

Most of what he projected into the bond she knew.  He admitted how he envied her work, her long term psi experiments with Terrans.  They both recalled how relentlessly he interrogated her concerning her regard for Terran culture, humans, their illogical behaviour and emotional expressions.  Had I been younger, T’Shin told him, these questions would have seemed like a deliberate attempt to intimidate me. 

_“But you were not intimidated,”_ he countered.

_“No Sarek -- I was infatuated.”_

Now she opened herself to the bond, so he could feel the emotions she had grouped together under this category of infatuation.  It included some misplaced regard for his ambassadorship and the prestige which went with it, qualities which mattered less as they knew each other more.  It included physical attraction, beginning with his eyes and hands and quality of voice.  She had liked his pronunciation of Standard.

But the greatest energy that drew her to him she had not been able to specify, at the time.  She tried now.

_“Among our people, it seemed to me that there were those who followed the teachings of Surak, and I do not demean them by this designation.  It is a satisfactory response.”_

T’Praa threw her empty bottle -- it made a clatter on the floor.  Through her skin Sarek could feel she was restless, and her active limbs demonstrated as much.  He stood.  He tilted her body so that she was upright and faced the room, legs free to exercise themselves in midair.  Together, they walked around the egg.  Sarek brought her close to objects she might grasp: her comb and brush on the bureau, the padded edge of her changing mat. 

 _“Your statement,”_ he said to T’Shin as he walked, _“implies the existence of other kinds of Vulcans.”_

_“Yes, but I do not refer solely to the V’tosh Ka’tir or others who have rejected logic.  I believe there is, between the followers and the rebels, those who are seekers, as Surak himself was.  They do not presume that all questions which need to be answered can be answered by one Vulcan who lived one life at one point in history.”_

Sarek was pleased to note how T’Praa spotted and extended her hands towards one item which was further than an _irak_ from the place where they stood.  It signified an improvement in her distance vision.

 _“I state this on the basis of nothing more scientific than my own estimation,”_ he remarked, “ _but I would propose that you were one of those seekers, T’Shin.”_

_“I would say the same about you.  This was what drew me to you.  What drew us together.”_

T’Praa wanted one of her toys, a collection of three dimensional geometric shapes, carved from wood and stored inside a basket woven from Jarran marsh grass.  It had been a gift from the Arboreal attache.

He moved the basket from its shelf and set it on the floor.  He put T’Praa down on her stomach, close enough to see and reach but not to touch unless she devised some method of self-propulsion.  He remained in a crouch and watched her.

And he gave T’Shin a memory that he had not shared with her before.

_“Attaché Narjan first approached me nine days after the Destruction.  I was still on Earth, residing in the Vulcan Embassy.  He withheld information deliberately at that time, because I did not feel strong enough to leave the company of the other survivors and speak with him alone.  He told me only that Xindi patrols had surveyed areas near the battle debris, and discovered a Terran female inside an escape pod.”_

_“I advised Narjan to inform Starfleet.  We parted on good terms and I did not consider the matter further.  The next time he came to find me on New Vulcan.  In public he made it seem that the purpose for his visit was to offer various provisions for the new colony.  In private – that is, in the accommodation I shared with Ambassador Spock – he confided that this Terran female was pregnant with a half-Vulcan child.”_

In a commendable display of focus and determination, T’Praa beat against the floor with her hands and created sufficient lift to bounce herself forward.

_“The Ambassador and I conferred afterwards.  We both had misgivings.  We were inclined to view Narjan's additional information as a ruse, a means to convince me to leave the colony.”_

_“The next day, when I agreed to meet the attaché alone, it was understandable that he would interpret this as the prelude to further agreement.  I believe I caused him some consternation when I began to explain Order 13.4.7 and said I could not help.”_

Having closed the distance between herself and the object of her desire, T’Praa thrust out a hand.  The action showed more enthusiasm than finesse.  It succeeded only in pushing the basket out of reach again.

_“I have since explained to the attaché that my refusal was a test.  I needed him to provide proof of the existence of this mother and unborn child.”_

Sarek paused his story to allow them both to share their admiration for T’Praa, who, after much paddling and kicking, lifted herself off the floor into a position for crawling.  The baby paused also.  Her eyes opened wide.

_“Naturally, Narjan pleaded.  He said the mother was experiencing complications which the Aquatic medics did not understand how to treat.  This I could believe, but of itself was not convincing.  He went on to tell me the unborn child was extraordinary, very communicative.  I asked him what he meant by this.”_

_“That was when he told me how their medical scans of the foetus picked up signals which sounded like Aquatic language, vibrating through the amniotic fluid.  When they amplified these, they received an unmistakeable, repeated message.”_

T’Praa, still supporting her own weight on her hands and knees, opened her mouth and grinned.  Through the bond, T’Shin spoke Standard, and repeated the message she had sent from the womb.

“ _Find the Vulcan Ambassador and tell him his secret.  Tell him how he once moved through warm salt water as high as his shoulders, and below that water he reached out and was touched.  It buoyed his heart, which had been sinking.”_

Sarek processed and controlled his envy of the baby, for her freedom to smile. 


	3. Waiting and Wondering

“Captain,” Uhura announced, “two intruder alerts have sounded on F Deck.”

It had started.

All the waiting and wondering and yes, anticipatory tension leading up to this moment could now make way for … well, more waiting and wondering and tension.

Nyota shifted forward in her chair so she could be closer to her workstation. 

“Security have initiated lock down,” she called out, “and a containment team has been despatched.”

“Oh good.”

That was all Jim Kirk had to say.

With the drill in progress, Uhura could not turn her back on her console.  Her captain’s response could only be interpreted by considering his tone of voice (flat) in combination with his well-known level of enthusiasm for procedures and simulation exercises (low to non-existent).

Nine days ago, Leonard McCoy happened to have the same Alpha shift breakfast break.  While they waited for their food to replicate she mentioned how, in spite commanding his first ship on its first mission, Kirk often seemed bored.  McCoy replied with a bombshell.

“You know that he enrolled in Starfleet because Chris Pike dared him?”

He also asked her how she was adjusting to the Enterprise regimen.

“I’m glad I worked on Honshu first,” she said.

Her space station placement had done her a great favour – she was well prepared for the tightly controlled, repeated routines of life on board a starship.  Prepared, moreover, for separation.  Starfleet relaxed the rules on fraternisation between serving officers, but only legally certified partnerships got shared quarters.  Since they were the highest profile couple on board, she agreed with Spock that they must set the best example.  So he retained his accommodation on B Deck while she had her cabin two levels below.

The Enterprise computer programmed their respective shift patterns according to the latest published recommendations.  They maintained a priority on duty over pleasure.  In any consecutive two hundred hour period, she and Spock never had more than twenty-four of them as synchronised leisure time.

“One of the intruders has been apprehended, Captain.”

She remained poised over her display, expecting Security to report on the other shortly.

Starfleet did more than just control the amount of time couples had together.  Where working hours were concerned, Nyota reckoned Lieutenant Dempsey sat beside her on the bridge more often than Spock.  A First Officer’s job, she was learning, demanded a greater amount of consistent effort than any other position.  Spock had to turn every captain’s order into a detailed plan, and meet with senior officers to ensure they understood their part.  He supplemented the captain’s log with detailed reports about all missions; he conducted post-action debriefings and made recommendations for improvement.  He signed off all departmental supply requests, conducted random stock checks.  He authorised all promotions, demotions, disciplinary decisions and internal transfers.  He assessed departmental performance levels, conducted inspections.  He planned and oversaw all ship wide training refreshers and safety exercises, like this one.

“Captain?” Uhura called out.

“Yes, Lieutenant?”

“The second intruder has disappeared.”

“Disappeared ...,”

“Security are running sensors again, and checking visual footage from the time of the alert.”

Uhura heard Kirk snigger. 

“Only Spock could figure out how to make someone vanish from a locked down deck.”

The captain’s voice increased in volume and clarity as he spoke, so that Uhura knew he was interested enough to get out of his chair and move closer.

“What about the transporter rooms?" he asked.  "Anyone beaming people in and out?”

“No sir.”

“On board the shuttlecraft?”

She switched her display to show activity in the shuttle bay.  Kirk appeared at her right side, arms folded.

“No,” she confirmed.

“All shuttles on board?”

“You think the second intruder was beamed to a shuttle in flight?” Uhura asked.

“How else?  They can’t escape F Deck using lifts or emergency exit shafts.  And we fitted sensors inside the ventilation and maintenance ducts.”

“But have we tested them?”

Kirk considered the possibility for a couple of seconds before making a sour face.

“Spock would know that the probability of finding the one sensor that didn’t work was low.”

Uhura found herself smiling in agreement.

“Sir, you are definitely getting to know the Commander.”

“Yeah,” Kirk agreed, “It’s all those dinner dates we have.”

He joked, but only a little.  Starfleet mandated that Captain and First Officer meet regularly in their off duty time, aiming for a minimum of one hour in every twenty-four.  It meant that Kirk saw more of Spock than she did, but Nyota did not resent this.  The relationship between the command pair needed to be solid; it was crucial.  If she entered the refectory and saw them eating together, she sat somewhere else to have her meal.

Security Chief Samax Tol Tau Sigg hailed her station.

“Tell the captain the second intruder was beamed out of F Deck,” he reported.  “We have the first intruder in the brig.  Permission received from Doctor McCoy to administer truth serum, and after that we question him.”

“No, no, no, no,” Kirk leaned over her console, “That would be too easy.”

“Sir,” Samax asked, “you don’t want us to interrogate?”

“Look, do whatever you like.  I’m just saying that if you caught this guy so fast, Spock probably wants him caught, wants him interrogated.  That’ll distract you, take up time, and time degrades our result.”

“What else do you suggest?”

“How much do we know about the second intruder?”

Uhura picked up the video feed from Security files, and let it play.  The second intruder was visible for exactly five seconds – long enough to set off the alert but quick enough to avoid the computer’s bioscans.  And whoever it was arrived in full space suit and tinted visor.  The only crew member they could probably rule out was Lieutenant Kyona, because her suit had an adjustment in the back to accommodate her tail.

The security chief said, “We know the second intruder was between one hundred eighty and one hundred ninety-two centimetres tall."

Kirk cleared his throat and Uhura smiled.

“Run that through our personnel data, Samax, and let me know what you come up with,” the captain said, shaking his head.

“Aye sir.  Samax out.”

“What do you figure?” Kirk asked her.

“That height range is Starfleet’s median for recruits,” Uhura said.  “About half the crew will be suspects.”

“Be quicker to scan who was missing.”

But that was not permitted.  To make the drill as realistic as possible, Spock was permitted to select a team of six individuals whose identity and biological data would be temporarily removed from the crew roster for the duration of the exercise, transforming them into unidentified strangers.  He could also commandeer a working space with full privacy settings, and ship’s computers could not be used to search for either the missing people or secret location.

Uhura reminded Kirk, and watched him roll his eyes.

“Oh god,” he said, and turned away.  “How long before we reach Nibiru?”

“Only four more days, sir.”

“Four.”

She listened to his footsteps as he shuffled back to his chair.  If Kirk ran Starfleet, they would have set off without warp speed restrictions.  There would be no mandatory tasks to complete before arriving at their destination, no concerns about preparing the crew for handling emergencies or making them familiar with their duties.

Just as they suspected, Samax hailed again to report that their captured intruder knew nothing helpful.  Ensign Chekov didn’t even know that Spock had chosen him for the drill team.  He had been off duty for real when he was transported, fast asleep in his bunk because he had worked Gamma shift.

Somewhere in the middle of the interrogation, the computer identified two more intruders in the stern side support pylon.  Security waited to see whether they would both stay put, but that delay gave the invaders time to climb up into the propulsion units.  There were plenty of hiding places there.  A team of four officers beamed across to try and flush out the pair, but had to retreat when two of their number were stunned by phaser fire.

Both intruders mysteriously disappeared before reinforcements could arrive.

Meanwhile Ensign Chekov, released from the brig and on his way back to bed, had his molecules broken up again and reassembled inside G Deck biome, where he was set upon by the research botanists and tied to one of the wind sculptures until Samax informed them that they had the wrong man.

A fifth intruder materialised in MedBay just long enough to set off a handheld potassium nitrate grenade, and filled the offices with blue smoke.  McCoy hailed the bridge, livid.

“Jim, medical facilities should be shielded – no one able to beam in or out without my clearance.  Why the hell hasn’t that been set up yet?”

Kirk was slumped in his chair by this time.  “I…suppose that’s the point of this test.”

And then Scotty was on Uhura’s channel, demanding, “Has nobody checked the reserve units?”

“Reserve units?” she asked.

“We’ve got seven reserve transporter panels in storage, four for the ship and three for shuttles.  The Commander might be using one of them.”

While the computer was checking for their locations, Nyota saw light from the corner of her eye, as if shining out from under her chair.  She glanced down and saw the sixth intruder, crouched at her side.

It was Spock, armed with a phaser.

“Captain!”

That was all she got to say.  Spock sprang up and stopped her mouth with his.  And then the two of them were enveloped in transporter illumination.

***

Their destination was an unfamiliar interior -- eight sided, exit hatch overhead, no viewscreen.  Single pilot cab, enclosed.  Twelve high-backed seats along the walls, of which eight had workstations and four had occupants.

Ensign Alda, assistant communications officer, sat in one.  She was still wearing the spacesuit, but holding the helmet on her lap.

In the centre of the space was a two person transporter pad.  Nyota stepped off it.

“Commander Spock,” Major Nandasiri looked up from the controls, “is this your prisoner?”

“It is,” he replied. 

The five members of his team did not repress their amusement.  Nyota spotted the readouts on the transporter controls, and that finally answered her unspoken questions about where Spock had taken her.  She shook her head.

“Sir,” she said as Spock left the transporter platform himself and sat at one of the chairs with a workstation, “this is not appropriate behaviour on board a Vulcan escape pod.”

But that only made the crew laugh more.  Nyota sighed.

“Is that it, for me?” she asked, taking the seat beside him.  “I was really enjoying the challenge, trying to figure out what was going on.”

“Having observed activity on the bridge throughout,” Spock replied, “I concluded that it might be expedient to challenge certain of your colleagues more.”

He invited her to view his workstation.  Spock had linked into the video feed from her comms console.  Jim Kirk sat there now, asking Scotty how one of the reserve transporter units could go missing without Engineering knowing about it.

“Hang on,” Scotty was saying, “I’m checking the maintenance logs.”

“Commander,” Nandasiri asked, “should I beam out the next intruder as scheduled?”

“Negative,” Spock replied.  “Power down the unit and wait for my order.”

Scotty announced that he had located the missing transporter unit in the refectory, parked between a waste incinerator and the interactive wall mural.  Nyota watched Jim sit back in her chair and turn his head up to the ceiling.

“Mr. Scott," the captain said, "I think what we’ve discovered is another distraction, like Ensign Chekov.”

Nyota folded her arms.  “This escape pod has been in shuttle bay nearly a year.  I can’t believe that nobody has taken an inventory of its equipment and added it to the ship’s database.”

“All Vulcan craft are protected from off world intrusion by a security system which requires fluency in High Vulcan and a detailed knowledge of our history,” Spock replied.

Nyota understood.  “They’d have needed to ask you.”

“Given my recent medical suspension and the events which caused this pod to arrive in our shuttle bay, my conjecture is that crew members were reluctant to do so.”

Via Spock’s workstation, they could hear Scotty in Engineering, telling Keenser to keep quiet.

“Not now!  I’m talking with the Captain.  Sir, all transporter units are accounted for and controls have been rerouted.  They can only be activated from your chair.”

“Major Nandasiri,” Spock said, “you may beam out the next intruder.”

Lieutenant Caruso stepped onto the platform with a hoverboard.  He was sent to the warp coil.  Spock split the video feed on the workstation so that Nyota could watch how Caruso flew round and round the tanks like a panicked bird while the Engineering crew called for Security and tried to think of a safe way to bring this latest intruder down.  Keenser belted himself with a jetpack and took up the chase.  The resulting aerial dogfight was exciting and lasted nearly four minutes.  Then Caruso miscalculated a turning – the board smashed against a girder and he fell.

His high impact suit saved him from injury.  Security officers came running from three different directions across the engine room floor, but before any of them could get their man he took his phaser from his holster and stunned himself.

They heard Scotty hail the bridge again.

“Sir, was that your idea of a joke?”

“What?” Kirk replied, “Of course not.”

“I think you’re one of the drill team,” the chief engineer said.

“Scotty, the First Officer is not permitted to choose his captain.  That’s probably the only simulation rule I know or care about.  I wish they’d rule me out of any participation, but I seem to have lost my Communications expert.  Got any other ideas?”

Nyota grinned.  Spock noticed.

“Lieutenant,” he said, “please bear in mind this is a _Vulcan_ escape pod.”

While they watched McCoy arrive in Engineering to collect the unconscious Caruso, Nyota checked that no one inside the pod was looking their direction.  Then she reached across the workstation, brushing Spock’s knuckles when her hand stretched out and again when it returned.

The contact caused a sizzle to zip down her spine -- she had to grip her seat cushion with both hands.  Spock gave her a look with bottomless eyes.

“Major Nadasiri,” he said without a hint of anything untoward in his voice, “please power down the transporter unit.  Crew prepare for the end of the exercise.”

The end came, but it took Kirk and the rest of the crew another thirty-six minutes to work out what was going on.  It would have been less if they’d listened to Keenser, who had guessed already.  But Scotty made him stay up in the air and check all the warp coil tanks for damage.  Samax speculated that Commander Spock might be able to configure the workstation in his quarters and achieve short range transport, and while Security went to check Scotty did the diagnostics and concluded that even if that was the plan, Spock would only have been able to beam one person at a time, never two.

After thanking the drill team for their effort and allowing them to leave the pod, Spock graded the efforts of the Enterprise crew at 68%, and notified the bridge.

“Very generous of you, Commander,” Kirk’s voice came through the one operating workstation.  “Will you be returning my Communications Officer?”

“Captain, I believe Lieutenant Uhura finished her shift eight minutes and twenty-nine seconds earlier, and is now off duty.”

There was every probability, since Spock had opened a two way video link, that Kirk could see Nyota’s hand snaking across the front of his First Officer’s blue shirt.

“Will he be grading your next exercise, Lieutenant?” Kirk asked.

“Spock out,” came the abrupt response, and the video link was cut.

***

Intimate expression between them became more formal.  Spock would not have predicted such, but in hindsight it seemed inevitable that the regimentation of Starfleet life, which dictated control and caution in every other activity, would have its effect on their sexual predilections.

They shared a kiss in the privacy of the escape pod, but did nothing which might disorder their hair or clothing.  Side by side, with space between them, they left the vessel and walked from shuttle bay to B Deck.  Once inside his quarters, Spock instructed the computer to dim the lights throughout and give them full privacy.  He went to his workstation, not to power it up but merely to have his back to her while she made apparel choices from his replicator.

She took those garments away and locked herself inside his hygiene station.  The sound of the bolt was his cue to walk into the bedroom, carefully undress and store his clothes, make space for her uniform and boots inside his wardrobe and turn back the covers of the bed.

He retained control over his body’s reactions.  Only if she needed a shower, as she did now, would he allow himself to recline on the mattress and imagine her naked, letting his circulatory system rush a supply of blood to his groin.

In keeping with the shipwide checks on all operations and systems, Nyota was working her way through the replicator’s inventory of babydolls.  As she exited the hygiene station she paused and posed, tilted her head as if looking for something over her right shoulder.  This action pulled on the halter neck of the sleeveless lace bodice and hoisted the already short skirt.

“Number fifteen,” she announced softly, “in black.”

She turned once, to let him see how much of her back it left bare.  And then it seemed right to release all his sexual energy, let it thrum to every part of his body, knead the mattress impatiently with his ankles.

They had learned to compress their lovemaking into very short periods of time.  Since Nyota still needed to eat, tutor Ensign Alda in Klingon and submit her subspace log which had been postponed by the drill, they had agreed to an hour.  Thirty minutes would be hers: he would explore the construction of the babydoll, test how his hands could work with the fabric to stimulate her skin, ensure that her _keshtan-ur_ and _ko-lok_ were sufficiently lubricated and induce as many orgasms as possible by whatever means she suggested.

Then it would be his turn.

He began to understand why, when he had served on the USS Farragut, his fellow crewmen constantly enquired about the availability of shore leave, when and where and how long and what facilities were offered at the destination.  Unrelenting routine had not been a problem for him.  On the contrary, routine provided justification to keep his mind locked down and certain aspects of himself less accessible.  

Now he experienced that longing the humans described, the need for spontaneity and relaxation.  And it brought his thoughts back to marriage.  Were he and Nyota husband and wife, different regulations would apply to their professional lives, allow them longer periods of time together.

“Perhaps,” he murmured in her ear, “when this mission is complete …,”

And he left the sentence unfinished, left her wondering and waiting. 


	4. Voices of Those Lost

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Igbo words and phrases used in this chapter:  
> A Mụrụ ụwa Taa – “A World is Born Today”  
> Nne – “mother”
> 
> The Swahili word “binti” means “aunt”

He came to Chibuzo in her dreams. 

Usually he appeared as Tonev, the guide she hired in T’karath shortly after taking up her research post on Vulcan.  Chibuzo chose to study geology because much of the work was done in solitude, because rock and soil did not require interaction.  Her gregarious relations often said she would make a better sculpture than a person.  Yet she recalled how difficult it had been, even for her, to resist making conversation with this grave Vulcan man as he accompanied her on desert surveys.  They had to pause for water and food.  Dust storms made it necessary to shelter inside his hovercraft for hours.  Only after Tonev stated it plainly did she stop feeling as though keeping to her usual silence would be rude.

Having accepted that, the wordless times they spent in close proximity became comfortable.  Very comfortable.  As the deadline approached for submitting her thesis to the Federal University of Technology in Akura, Chibuzo noticed a difference between those silences which passed in his company and those which did not.

At the end of her posting, Tonev surprised her three times.  He offered her a faster journey to the shuttleport in Shi’Kahr by taking her in the hovercar.  Chibuzo felt this was too generous, until Tonev revealed that he had booked passage on the same earthbound departure and would be travelling with her as far as Starfleet Africa headquarters.  To reciprocate his kindness, she offered to be his Terran guide.  But he assured her that he needed no assistance, since he had visited Dar-es-Salaam many times.

So Chibuzo left him in Tanzania, and caught her connecting shuttle to Onitsha.  She supposed that the surprises would end there.

She spent a week in her family home, in many family homes.  The hours of conversation time which had never been used on Vulcan were hugged and kissed and shaken out of her by friends, relatives and neighbours.

After seven days she considered escape plans.  Were she to fly back to Dar-es-Salaam, for example, a good reason would be needed.

So Chibuzo told her mother she was considering a post-graduate application to Starfleet Academy.

This was not true.  But her mother, already resigned to the inclinations of her middle daughter, replied, “Ah, of course.  Space is far from home and quiet.”

As soon as Chibuzo reached Africa headquarters she made enquiries about Tonev.

She learned that he was staying at the home of one Doctor Aminifu Uhura, a retired Academy lecturer.  Never knowingly unprepared, Chibuzo went to the address armed with a rational explanation for her visit.  She had applied for a temporary work placement with the same Vulcan institute which had sponsored her as a research student.  It was important to find out whether her former guide would be available.

Doctor Uhura answered her own front door.  She was small and slender and spirited.

“Chibuzo Okigbo,” she exclaimed, “What a perfect surprise!”

The doctor wrapped two bony arms around Chibuzo’s sleek one.  How was it that this old woman recognised her?

By force of personality, Doctor Uhura coerced Tonev to come out of his room and share the stiff, antique divan in her sitting room with their visitor and drink tea.  She called the Vulcan Karimu.  His replies, given in Swahili, always addressed her as “ _binti_ ”.  Chibuzo was surprised yet again.  What was this woman to him?  How had they become so close?

But because she and Tonev were both comfortable with silence, explanations took some time to happen.

They waited until after her placement request had been approved, after she returned to Vulcan.  Halfway up the face of Fo-Wein in the Vuldi Gorge, they had to shelter on a ledge, because the mists had descended and made further climbing dangerous.

That was when he told her about T’Shin, his great grandmother, and the project which took up most of her life.

The story reminded Chibuzo of a favourite childhood book, _A Mụrụ ụwa Taa_ by Miranda Eze.  The author had imagined a small group of aliens coming to Lagos to study humans and becoming more involved in the lives of their subjects than expected.  Chibuzo did not tell Tonev this.

The mist lifted.  They continued climbing the side of the gorge, taking strata samples.

When they finally reached the top, she said, “I did not think Vulcans would choose Terran company, even for research.”

Tonev replied, “Vulcans select all social interactions carefully.”

With each subsequent foray into the gorge, he told her more stories.  As a boy he made biannual visits to Tanzania with his parents.  Doctor Uhura and her children, being involved with his great grandmother's research, came to know him well.  They took him into the mountains to visit their other relations, and taught him to understand many aspects of human culture and behaviour.

The last stories dated back to his thirteenth year.  After that there were no more.  Tonev assisted with their final sample collections in silence, and this was the first time Chibuzo found herself waiting for the sound of his voice.

When the temporary placement was over, he drove her to Shi’Kahr but did not accompany her for the journey to Dar-es-Salaam.

Throughout the flight she was surrounded by the wrong kind of silence, and gave away her humanity by fidgeting.  It was raining in Tanzania.  A stubbornness possessed her as she waited for her luggage, listening to the rain hammer at the shuttleport windows.  She did not catch her connecting shuttle to Nigeria.  Instead she asked the information desk for hotels in Dar-es-Salaam with rooms that overlooked the ocean.

Water, Chibuzo believed, was what she must be missing.

The hotel was crowded, the line for reception snaking round the lobby.  Many of them, it turned out, were also geologists, part of a team monitoring flood defences during the spring.  A man named Zuri noticed her tool case and invited her to join them in the bar once she had checked in.  She surprised herself by agreeing, by enjoying banter with people who understood her science, by accepting and drinking two Serengeti Premium lagers followed by another bottle labelled ‘The Kick’. 

She remembered that Zuri saw her to her room.  Nothing she might have done, having drunk so much after a year of abstinence, would have surprised her.  Yet she also remembered that, in spite receiving his very inviting goodnight kiss, she turned down his request to come inside.

The next morning, she watched from her window as the team filed out onto their buses.  After that she watched the ocean waves and the rain.  By lunchtime it was clear that none of these would provide a cure for whatever ailed her.

She took a hovertaxi to Doctor Uhura’s address.  The antique divan felt more uncomfortable than previously.

“How was it you recognised me, the last time?” Chibuzo asked, after the professor had poured tea.

Uhura slapped her knees with amazement.  “You ask me now?”

Then, since Chibuzo did not have a ready answer, the old woman studied her a while.  After a minute, perhaps, Uhura said, “You have changed my Karimu, I think.”

“How so?”

“He talks more.  He … describes.  I knew so much about you, before you came to my door.  He has not been like this since we lost my son Basha.”

Then the retired professor played her less than a minute of footage from Tonev’s recent subspace message.  He spoke about his bondmate, Virrun.  She had requested relocation to Shi’Kahr, to be nearer her family.  He acknowledged that it was difficult, given his frequent long absences as a guide, for her to care for their children without support.

That was it.  The doctor went back to drinking tea, without comment.  After five minutes Chibuzo worked up the courage to ask what she was meant to take from such a short video clip, and Uhura looked surprised.

“You have worked a long time with Vulcans,” she said.  “I wouldn’t think such things needed to be pointed out.  A private matter such as that would hardly be revealed to Vulcans, and certainly not to humans.”

Before Chibuzo could suggest that the doctor might be an exception, Uhura added, “He has never spoken to me about his bondmate.  Until that message, I did not know her name.”

Doctor Uhura had a psychology qualification; it was possible she thought this conversation they had would provide a cure for something.  But it confused Chibuzo.  She ended the visit as politely as she could, and flew home to Onitsha.  She applied for and got a job at Springfield Academy, teaching geography to fifteen-year-olds, and managed to stay for two terms before the horrible reality of talking every day, for most of the day, made her ill.  Her mother, ever perceptive, put Chibuzo in one of the guest apartments located at the top of their house, so she could recover.  Only the android butler, Ikemefuna, attended her.

One morning Ikem entered her room and, with his voice setting modified for solemnity, told her he would refuse any visitor she did not feel able to see.

“Visitor?” she asked.  After the first two weeks of her seclusion, everyone had stopped trying to get past the android’s mechanical willpower and ability to lock down access to the top floor.

Ikemefuna powered up the display panel fitted to the front of his body to show her the person who waited at the back door.  Chibuzo surprised herself by bursting into tears.

Naturally, she did not tolerate behaviour like that for long.  She washed and dried her face and asked Ikem to fetch her a holy day outfit: a matching blouse, wrapper and head tie.  When Tonev was shown into the sitting room of her apartment, she was seated like a dignitary in one of the two armchairs.

He sat down in the other.

They were silent together for over an hour.  Chibuzo felt it healing.  There came a point where she knew it would be necessary to say something, but she did not know what.  She did not care how he located her, or whether his bondmate knew of his whereabouts, or why he had come.

So she invented a reason to talk.

“I have been considering,” she lied, “an offer to work with Vulcan Science Academy astrogeologists on 37 Khomi.”

Three minutes later, Tonev replied. 

“Will this work necessitate a guide?”

He did not leave her apartment until the next morning. 

***

On Vulcan, the phenomenon was known as _tel-tam’a –_ phantom bond.

Decades of intimate psi contact between partners integrated the thoughts, memories and speech patterns of one mind into another.  Those individuals who experienced _tel-tam’a_ spoke of lapses, when they believed they had conversed mind to mind with their dead bondmate.  In actuality, they had invented every word themselves. 

Sarek had these lapses.

T’Shin withdrew her company as the time came near for Chibuzo to finish sleeping.  T’Praa had grown bored with her wooden toy.  Sarek replicated a set of Vulcan character runes, which attracted her attention immediately he poured them from their bag onto the floor.  While she watched, he formed vertical stacks which spelled out her name and the names of objects in the room.  He sounded out the letters, then pronounced the words.  T’Praa repeated most of them reasonably.

But eventually the tactile sensation and manipulation potential of the tiles became more interesting than the symbols depicted on them.  Chibuzo’s daughter displaced the carefully stacked pieces with clumsy sweeps of her hands, inclined one tiny, pointed ear to listen to the sound they made clattering together.  She reached out for the first letter of her name, and with all the stretching and rocking that required she managed to roll herself onto her back.  But not before she caught the rune and brought it with her.  She grasped the edges with both hands and studied the printed face gravely.

_“I know you wanted another child.”_

Sarek did not succumb to the impulse to look over his right shoulder, from where her voice seemed to emanate.

_“Amanda …,”_

_“You let it be my decision, I realise, and I never insisted on hearing your opinion.  But I knew.”_

_“It is illogical to discuss the matter now.”_

_“It is illogical to be reluctant to discuss the matter.  I am dead.  Different conversations may be held with the dead than with the living.”_

_“You speak from experience?”_

_“A little.”_

T’Praa dropped her alphabet tile.  Sarek selected another from the floor, and handed it to her.

 _“I felt --,”_ he began.  But even in the privacy of his own mind, conversing with a memory of her, the verb seemed too emotive.  He hesitated, reconsidered what he would say.

 _“Spock might have demonstrated more self-control,_ _if he had to consider the example his behaviour would set for a younger sibling.”_

 _“Maybe,”_ Amanda said.

_“Express your doubt.”_

_“It is equally possible that Spock might have demonstrated less self-control in the defence of his younger sibling.”_

_“Agreed.  A possibility.”_

_“Or lost control because of that sibling.”_

_“Explain.”_

_“Sarek, there was rivalry between you and your brother.”_

_“Competition need not be rivalry.”_

_“All right, call it competition.  Spock was burdened with a unique identity.  By default he could not measure up to the norms of Vulcans or Terrans; he could only use them as reference points on the way to understanding himself.  And it would have been tempting to think of a full brother or sister as an identical twin, someone whose peculiarities would be the same as his.  But the truth is that they would likely have been different.  And that difference would have been more painful, since he was already alone.”_

The words that seemed to be Amanda’s distracted him.  He did not notice that the membrane into the egg had been opened or that Chibuzo had entered until her slippered feet appeared in his line of vision.

“Good morning, _a’nirih_ of T’Praa _.”_

The katra of T’Shin taught Chibuzo this Vulcan term, meaning ‘father’ but not in the same sense as _sa-mekh,_ which Spock would use.  _A’nirih_ stressed guardianship, not paternity.

T’Praa caught sight of her mother and held up her arms, calling, “ _Nne!”_

Chibuzo got down on her knees, lifted the baby over her head before gradually drawing her in until they rubbed noses.  T'Praa became quiet, subdued by the skin contact.  Her tiny fingers did not yet know what they were doing, as they felt their way over their mother's face, seeking more.  Chibuzo smiled.

Mother and child remained in wordless commune.  Sarek had found the widow of Tonev/Karimu a revelation in quietness.  He would not have called Amanda talkative, by human standards, but Chibuzo was a level beyond that, as satisfied with the company of her own mind as any Vulcan female.

He could not recall another human of similar disposition, not that he had met.  The nature of his work predetermined the sample of Terrans he encountered: those with high status, inclined to public careers and the level of interaction those demanded.  It was not often he found himself in different company.

 _“Not often,”_ he heard Amanda concur, _“but luckily for me, just often enough.”_

Sarek was about to correct his _tel-tam’a_ regarding the existence of luck, but the computer system within the egg interrupted his thoughts, and announced that Narjan, attaché to the Right Honourable Counsellor for Non-Xindi Affairs, had requested entry through the membrane.


	5. Lucky Lady

_Anasa –_ Swahili for luxury _._

 _Anasa_ was having a sleeping shift which matched his -- eight hours to share his bed.  Nyota woke with her head on Spock’s pillow, and that pushed so far across the mattress it curled over the edge and she could see the floor.  She did not remember Spock getting up.  But then, by the time they finally wanted the bed for _sleep_ , she had been tired.

 _Anasa_ was having room to stretch her arms and legs while lying down.  In cabin D13, her bunk fitted snugly into a corner under a storage locker, to make efficient use of space.  Nyota rolled onto her back, pulled the covers off her body and extended all her muscles as far as they would go, wriggling her fingers and toes.

She tipped her chin back to stretch her neck, and spotted the ribbon.

It looked like red velvet.  One end had been secured behind the headboard, while the other came over the top and finished in a bow knot that was looped and tied around a tiny box.

Nyota rolled back onto her stomach.  She lifted herself off the mattress using hands and knees and crawled closer to it.  The box seemed somehow familiar.  She leaned closer to check the tiger stripe grain that was distinctive to ebony wood, and recognised the logo engraved on the lid.

“Manju George?”

From somewhere behind her, Spock replied, “Correct.”

And Nyota realised he was being treated to a view of what Gaila always believed to be her most valuable asset, completely uncovered.  She glanced over her shoulder to be certain.  Spock stood in the doorway of his hygiene station, tying the belt on his dressing gown, appreciating the display. 

Mischievously, she waggled her hips.

He crossed the room, sat down on the bed and placed a warm hand on the small of her back.

“Reluctant as I am to decline your invitation, we are due to join the Senior Officers’ meeting in an hour and seventeen minutes, and I expect you will need the time to shower and dress.”

She expressed regret with a sigh, but knew that her skin spoke of delight and curiosity about the ebony box.  While she sat back on the mattress, Spock reached over the headboard and freed the ribbon from wherever it was fastened.  He untied the knot that held the box and put it in her hands.

 _Anasa._   Zuri must have told him.  The assistant to the Head of Starfleet Africa had wanted to say a personal goodbye before Uhura left Dar-es-Salaam.  The two of them had lunch at the Ustadi Galleria along the cruise ship docks, the promenade filled with exclusive restaurants and boutiques.  Only Zuri knew that Uhura had stopped at the window of the jewellers to admire the Manju George range, and this pair of earrings in particular.  The drop pendants were just the right size, as light and delicate as pearlescent petals.

Without verbalising any of these thoughts, she said, “I bet you were told exactly why I liked these.”

Spock replied, “You believed the design made them suitable to wear while on duty.”

“But you kept them back until today.  What’s the occasion?”

Because he paused before replying, and removed his hand from her body, she looked away from her gift to see his expression.  He seemed to be reviewing his words before he said them.  Suddenly she was glad they were not touching.  Her stomach started to make butterflies.

“A year ago today you applied to annul your marriage to Emmanuel Kasembe,” he finally said.

Nyota smiled, remembering.

“We danced together.”

“I realise there were reasons for the annulment which did not pertain to our relationship.  However, it seemed … essential, given the passage of so much time, to restate my gratitude.”

Nyota waited.  His words seemed like a preamble; she expected more to follow.  But he stayed silent.  His eyes only appeared to ask if he had done the right thing.

At the risk of losing time to get ready, she gave him a kiss that pulled his lips inside her mouth and slipped a hand underneath his dressing gown.    

***

“Right,” Kirk said, “Computer, Senior Officers’ meeting has commenced.  Record proceedings.”

Like everyone else in the Phoenix boardroom, Uhura squared her shoulders and checked the notes on her PADD one last time.  Across the table, Hikaru was giving her a curious look.  Keeping his gestures understated, he pointed at her, and then pinched one of his earlobes.

The captain continued.  “Commander Spock, for the purpose of the recording, would you please summarise our aims?”

Uhura smiled at Sulu.  She tipped her head to make her new earrings move, and to indicate the chair beside her, which Spock had pushed back in order to stand up and address them.

“This meeting commences our assigned mission to complete the survey of class M planet Nibiru in Alpha Quadrant, Eta Serpentis sector.  Senior officers were assigned to review data from the interrupted work carried out by the USS Resolute and propose our next actions.”

Nyota could still taste her breakfast on her tongue.  She had hastily replicated a protein bar in Spock’s quarters, and was briefed while she ate.  Spock cautioned her that Jim Kirk had already become fixated with one aspect of the Resolute’s data.

“Expect to be interrupted with questions which will indicate a plan he has already shared with me, off the record.”

“Oh,” Nyota chuckled.  “Bet that was a fun dinner date.”

“Indeed.”

“What should I do?” she asked.

“Tell him you would prefer to hear what the other officers have to present before making any recommendations.”

After summarising the aims of the meeting, Spock asked the computer to activate the audio visual unit in the ceiling and project the first holographic slide.  It seemed to beam down onto the table, the same image projected in three directions, a view of Nibiru from space.  They were all familiar with the planet now – its cloud formations, oceans and distinctive red/brown land masses.

“By studying aerial scans of the landscape, geologists on board the USS Resolute produced a schematic of the planet’s plate tectonics,” he said.  “Computer, next slide.”

The holograph superimposed fault lines over Nibiru’s surface.

“Whoa,” Hikaru said.  “That many?”

“It was estimated that the depth of Nibiru’s crust would range between nine and thirty-one kilometres,” Spock continued.  “Comparatively, Earth’s surface layer is between five and seventy kilometres.  Given these differences in formation, it is not surprising that the Resolute recorded a total of eighty-nine seismic events on the surface of Nibiru during a full shift rotation.”

Jim Kirk cleared his throat before asking, “Does that include volcanic activity, Commander?”

Nyota hid her smile by dipping her head and pretending to adjust her uniform collar.

“It does not,” Spock replied.  “The Resolute also identified five hundred and twenty eight potentially active volcanoes, twenty-two of which form part of this chain of mountains –,”

Spock asked the computer to adjust the hologram and zoom in on a strip of coastline, where the colour of the land seemed a more vivid shade of red.

“It might be helpful at this point if Lieutenant Sulu gave us his report on the climate and vegetation in this particular region.”

Hikaru stood up, and used a laser pointer to trace along the channel of land between the mountains and the sea.

“The Resolute sent down small probes at fifty kilometre intervals along the coastline, to measure weather patterns.  We found two of those still working, and they’d collected more than a year’s data.  The region is temperate, a little cooler and drier the further you head towards the magnetic poles.  We beamed up the probes to look at their soil samples and image banks.  The volcanic activity from the mountain chain has made the land fertile; the probes identified over eleven hundred unique varieties of plants and animals.”

“Sounds like a nice place,” Scotty said.  “If you like red.”

Then he made everyone laugh, pretending he’d only just noticed the colour of his own shirt.

Len McCoy presented next, to talk about the humanoid life on Nibiru.  The Resolute had also managed to plant a single stationary probe in an inhabited area by disguising it as something familiar: one of the anemone-like creatures which were abundant all along the coast.  They clung to rocks, trees, any structure.

The uploaded video and sound files had been absorbing.  After watching several hours of footage, Len and Nyota took to calling the people ‘Leruta’ -- a frequently used word which might have been describing the rich red colour of the surrounding forest or the forest itself.

“As far as population is concerned, we are looking at between two hundred fifty and three hundred individuals --,” McCoy said.

“We couldn’t get exact numbers?” Jim asked.

“Not yet.”

“You told me that the people stuck pretty close together.”

Hikaru spoke up.  “Their food supply is plentiful.  They wouldn’t need long hunting or gathering expeditions.”

“Maybe they have relationships with other groups of Leruta,” Chekov suggested, “to trade or make war.”

“No,” McCoy said firmly, “they don’t.”

Kirk interjected.  “Wanna tell Pavel why that is, Bones?”

“Because there aren’t any other groups,” the doctor replied.

“There is nobody else?” Chekov asked.

“The USS Resolute managed to locate fifteen different locations along the coast with the remains of similar villages and up north you could even see the schematics of road networks within the settlements, which would have made them more like towns.  But they’re all deserted.”

“Only one settlement,” Kirk repeated.  “And no other intelligent life on this world?”

McCoy rolled his eyes before replying, “No, Jim, no other intelligent life.”

“Why is that?”

Nyota wondered how Len would answer.  The USS Resolute also sent down probes to examine the areas with empty settlements.  The images sent back confirmed that the traces of these villages and towns lay buried beneath ash and solidified magma.

That explained the humanoid remains which were also detected there.  The scans revealed nothing under the volcanic material that could be interpreted as ritual internment of the dead.  Instead there were clusters of bones, bodies heaped together without attention, while in other places lone skeletons lay prone as if knocked down.

Perhaps Spock had coached the doctor the same way he had coached her.  McCoy said, “That’s getting a little ahead of things, don’t you --,”

“No it isn’t,” Kirk argued.  “Those habitations were not abandoned; they were destroyed.”

“Sure, that looks likely.  But --,”

“All destroyed by volcanic eruptions.  And if I could pre-empt Commander Spock before he gets to talking about our next assignments, I think it’s clear that we have intelligent life under threat on this world.”

McCoy checked all the faces round the table before he spoke. 

“I know how you feel, Jim.”

“Bones --,”

“But we all took the compulsory Starfleet Ethics classes.  We all had to memorise General Order One.”

“And all twenty-nine sub-orders,” Scotty chimed in.

“I hear them in my sleep,” Chekov said.

Nyota glanced at Spock.  Having returned to his seat, his face and body looked perfectly composed, like the first moments after he emerged from meditation.

“Bones, you should know me by now.  Blind obedience to rules bothers me.  We’ve brought all this knowledge and technology all this way, and yet all we’re allowed to do with it is observe.”

“Isn’t that what you signed up for?” Sulu asked.

“If by ‘sign up’ you mean signed away my freedom to think--,”

Before Hikaru could argue back, Spock rose smoothly out of his chair.

“Captain, given that you and I have discussed this matter already, perhaps our next assignments should focus on obtaining more detailed information about the occupied settlement.”

“What detail?  It’s sitting directly under an active volcano,” Kirk said.

“A fact which may or may not indicate immediate danger.”

“Spock, the crater is smoking.  Our scans can see that.”

“The Resolute’s scans observed the same.  This has been the normal activity for this mountain over the last fourteen months and may continue for years.”

“Or not.”

“Only more detailed observation will tell us, one way or the other.”

It was Jim Kirk’s turn to roll his eyes.

“All right,” he surrendered, “all right.  More detail.  What do you suggest?”

“Firstly, that Doctor McCoy and Lieutenant Uhura continue to observe the humanoids, learn more about their culture and habits, their language.  I would encourage Chief Engineer Scott and Ensign Chekov to design mobile probes which might get closer to our subjects without attracting attention.  Lieutenant Sulu should review the climate data and determine whether the volcano’s activity could be causing any detrimental changes to the environment.”

“You said ‘firstly’.  If all that is firstly, what comes second?” Kirk asked.

“If we can determine a means of getting to the surface safely and unnoticed, I would like to observe the mountain myself.”

“Why not send another probe?”

“The area around the crater will be unstable.  It would be unwise to use a transporter to correctly place an object or a crew member on solid ground.  Also, a probe could not negotiate the terrain and take readings from different locations.”

“I’d rather risk losing a probe than my First Officer,” Jim said.

“Captain, I assure you that I will not proceed with any action that risks injury or detection by the inhabitants of Nibiru.”

***

Spock left the Phoenix boardroom with Nyota.  His recommendations having been accepted, he planned to spend time in the labs, making his own surface scans of the mountain which so tempted Captain Kirk to ignore Starfleet’s policy of non-intervention.

But there was no reason to take the most direct route to the laboratory.  He could divert, and accompany Nyota to MedBay where she was studying the Resolute’s data with Doctor McCoy.

She was pleased with the earrings.  This was clear from their skin to skin contact, and from her increased inclination to tip or shake her head whenever he glanced in her direction.

Inside the turbolift she asked, “If we find out the volcano _does_ present a danger to the Leruta, then what?”

“If our own data demonstrates this, Captain Kirk may contact Starfleet Admiralty and request a decision whether intervention would be allowable because the culture is under mortal threat.”

“They would agree, surely.”

Her tone of voice was revealing.

“You find yourself in sympathy with the Captain’s views about the Prime Directive?” he asked.

She sighed – a sharp, sudden expiration.

“Spock, it is harder to maintain a neutral position when your area of expertise is the close study of the intelligent life.”

“The Captain is correct in his statement that we have brought knowledge and technology to a part of the galaxy which is lacking.  You will find, during your Starfleet career, that this will happen often.  It is likely we have been assigned this mission because we have an inexperienced crew, and Nibiru provides an opportunity to understand why caution and objectivity are important in such situations.”

Nyota nodded.  The turbolift opened, and they walked the rest of the way to MedBay without speaking.  However, upon reaching medical reception, she turned towards him abruptly and caressed his right upper arm through the sleeve of his tunic.

“I wish you would try to send a probe down to the volcano,” she said.

Her hand slid down his arm and reached under the sleeve cuff to touch his wrist.  He felt sharp pinches of anxiety.

Nurses Anand and Bristow monitored the reception desk.  They had looked after him throughout his illness, and Spock saw no reason to conceal emotions from them when they had witnessed much stronger demonstrations of feeling.  He placed a hand against Nyota’s neck, brushed her jaw with his thumb.

“In the event that I do go down to the surface, I envisage being lowered by cable connection, which would serve as a safety harness and pull me back if needed.”

In the emotive language of touch telepathy, Nyota was assured that he cared about her peace of mind.  And he gave her a kiss.  He heard Nurse Anand say, “Lucky lady,” quietly, though not quietly enough to escape his hearing.


	6. The Impressive Mrs. Atkinson

The Xindi computer did not generate an entrance to their egg.  Instead, it modified part of the membrane wall so that Sarek could see Narjan and Narjan could see him.  And it transmitted the voice of the attaché.

“Guardians’ mercy!”

Narjan put an open hand against the transparent barrier.

“You are all still alive.”

Sarek glanced behind him.  Chibuzo was standing up with T’Praa in her arms.

“Honorable Attaché,” he turned back to Narjan, “why do you --,”

“You must leave now.”

The egg membrane opened, but Narjan did not come inside.  He beckoned to them.

“Quickly!”

Diplomats were trained to resist hasty decisions.  Sarek hesitated. 

“Please,” the attache pleaded.

But it was the katra of T’Shin who convinced Sarek, speaking through the human who possessed her.

The katra lowered the register of Chibuzo’s voice, “ _I believe we should obey.”_

He nodded his acknowledgement.

“Make T’Praa safe,” he instructed, “I will follow.”

“Ambassador,” Narjan warned, “There may not be --,”

Sarek left the nursery egg, hurried back to his own.  Because his cloak lay within reach as he crossed the room, he grabbed it.  But his aim was to secure the twenty-fourth century encryptor, given to him by Ambassador Spock, which allowed the two of them to exchange private messages.

The device detected his touch and responded to his telepathically transmitted urgency.  Interference barriers withdrew.  Sarek activated an emergency distress and tracking signal, turned and started back the way he had come.

The next breath he inhaled made him choke.

Pain threw Sarek off balance.  He felt the encryptor slip from his hand and strike the floor.  Retrieving it was impossible.  His eyes burned; his years of mental control could not manage much more than resisting the impulse to breathe again and remaining calm.  He covered his face with his cloak.  Memory guided him back to the nursery egg and the exit Narjan had opened. 

But it was sealed.  A wise decision, to contain whatever toxin had suddenly entered the air supply.  Sarek beat on the membrane wall, not giving up on the possibility of rescue but equally not confident.

***

Chibuzo followed the attaché like a robot butler, aware that the katra she hosted was not in her thoughts as she clutched her daughter close.  After twists and turns through one open membrane after another, Narjan led her into an egg whose walls were marked with warnings in languages she could now read, thanks to T'Shin.  This was a decompression chamber.  She looked at the elliptical craft secured in the middle of the floor with a sense of the past repeating itself.

Narjan told her, “A school of Aquatic guards will swim around this pod when I eject it into the sea.  They will keep you concealed.”

She stepped up into the waiting compartment.  Narjan helped her harness T’Praa into the cradle recess and pointed out the immediate necessities.  His words did not entirely register, and thankfully would not need to.  Both she and Sarek repeatedly reviewed the evacuation procedures.

Then she was locked inside – just her, T’Praa and the empty seat which ought to be occupied.  Fate, Chibuzo often thought, was an unhealthy concept.  On this basis, she should not be thinking about her last escape from danger.  But how could she help it?

She had been with Tonev/Karimu, visiting his family on Vulcan.  They hired a private shuttle in Shi’Kahr and flew to the Starfleet construction yards beyond the twin planet T’Ruhk. His mother lived there, working in a consulting capacity on board the USS Argonaut.  And their return journey was delayed because the Argonaut, docked and still in testing phase, was ordered to answer the distress call.

As they travelled, more information was transmitted to their craft.  The readings coming from the long range scanners seemed impossible to believe, until their shuttle reached the location coordinates of the Federation fleet and they closed in on the battle wreckage.

They sent urgent subspace messages to all Karimu’s planetside relations.  After half an hour only one response came through from his sister Kisima -- _Flee!_   

But by then the collapse of Vulcan had begun.  Karimu changed course, pushed the shuttle engines as hard as they would be pushed, but the black hole could pull harder.  Their capture would be slow but certain.

He told her to get into the escape pod, and they had their first argument.

T’Praa won.  At that point she was nameless and no bigger than a kola nut, but they agreed on her survival.  Tonev secured his never-to-be bondmate inside the pod, kissed her mouth and her belly.  And then, after the pod had ejected, he blew up the shuttle.  The force of that blast gave Chibuzo enough thrust to shoot clear and avoid the destructive appetite of Nero’s singularty.

Now, inside another escape pod, she listened to Attaché Narjan transmit a countdown through her earpiece – _three, two, one_ –

The force of ejection pinned her down in her seat.  T’Praa cried out, startled.

“ _Nne_ T’Shin,” Chibuzo called out, “I cannot move.  Please would you comfort her?”

But no response came.

***

Sarek believed he was still standing, albeit with the support of the egg wall.  His hand had searched for and located the emergency exit node.  He pressed it, heard the alarm, but the membrane did not open as it should.  Meanwhile the cloak reached the limit of its capability as his air filter.  It felt wet now, an indication that the pain in his throat and sinuses was enough to cause bleeding.

It was fitting that the dead came to keep him company.  Through the bond, T'Shin assured him that Chibuzo and T'Praa were safe.  She reinforced his composure, up to the point where Sarek found himself fighting for consciousness.  His last thought urged her to go, to protect her great great granddaughter.

T'Shin's response begged him to hold on, and she said more that he could not hear.  Her voice seemed to fade away.  Then Amanda appeared.  Her voice, her face, her breath on his skin and her touch – were all so real he felt himself tremble.

She traced the shape of his eyebrow with her fingernail, as if she would mark him.

“ _This is too soon_ ,” she said. 

He found he disagreed.  There was a scent coming from the sash she had draped over her hair.  Her hair was darker, matching her irises.  In spite a lingering awareness that she was an illusion, he leaned in to kiss her.  She backed away.

 _“Sarek,”_ she said sternly, _“You ought to be seeking a new bondmate.”_

“I desire no other,” he told her.

_“Give it time.”_

But time, he realised, no longer seemed a concern.

Looking over her shoulder, he felt the past had shifted.  It was now ahead of him, rather than behind.  He was free to meet her again for the first time, be drawn to her the way he had been, when he was still a stranger to the phenomenon of attraction and unprepared for the things love might make him do.

Over her shoulder, he saw the place where their story began.  The unassuming building with audacious ambitions -- converted boat building sheds in Mission Bay, between Piers 48 and 50.  He almost turned down the invitation sent to the Vulcan Embassy in August of 2228.  What mitigated his decision were protests, held daily outside the consulate after a press release announced that the Vulcan government had purchased the former library building on Larkin Street.  And there were other misguided reactions based on a confusion of Vulcans with Romulans.  The latter had attacked two Starfleet cruisers near the Neutral Zone.

The invitation proclaimed, “We hope you will join us for a private tour of Vuhnaya Academy.  It is the aim of this new, ground-breaking school to develop future citizens of the Federation, young people with an awareness beyond their own world, capable of leadership in a multiplanetary context.”

Sarek had his doubts.  But it seemed prudent to leave those aside, and recognise the good intentions.

The principal of the Academy was an enthusiastic Trill named Siasa Laar.  She had personally recruited teaching staff from seven different Federation planets and had constructed a set of recessed learning bowls in the hope that Sarek would help her make their programming rigorous enough for Vulcan pupils.

His tour of the facility took two hours and twenty five minutes, and was not entirely without interest or aspects to be commended.  The learning bowls were well designed, even if unsuitable for Vulcans older than five years.  The language and xenocultural classes offered good grounding for the understanding of non-Terrans.  The dining hall, where he took a midday meal, catered sensitively.  There was a separate kitchen to handle animal products and trained staff who knew which of the menu items they should _not_ offer him.

Nevertheless, he told the principal that Vulcan enrolment was out of the question.  Her attempts to persuade him to reconsider gave him no new information.  There was tension in her voice when she bid him farewell, and anger in the striding steps she took to walk away.

The next day there was another protest outside the consulate.  Sarek noted that the numbers had increased, so that the noise was more difficult to ignore.  And the crowd required food, which they provided themselves by means of a concession with a large open grill.  Sarek ordered all the consulate windows to be shut against the nauseating smell of charred meat.

When his assistant Kutel informed him that one of the protestors had entered the building and asked to speak with him, he paused the treaty he was drafting but did not close the document. 

Kutel had shown the visitor into Ground Floor 2 conference room.  The windows looked out over the street.  Sarek noted, as he entered, that this human (female, approximately 1.6 meters tall, age not yet determinable, since she did not face him) was communicating non-verbally with someone in the crowd outside, waving demurely with her left hand (wedding band on fourth digit).  Then she hunched her shoulders and let them drop in the Terran gesture Sarek had learned to call a _shrug_.

“Mrs. _At_ kinson,” Kutel advised him to stress the first syllable of her surname, “you are the organiser of these protests?”

She gasped, turned quickly, and her breathing betrayed the agitation he had intended to cause by startling her.  Diplomacy sometimes required the careful establishing of dominance.

“No,” she said, “no, sir.  Not one of the organisers.”

“You are sent on their behalf?”

“No--,” she paused, exhaled forcefully to calm her breathing, and added, “well, almost.”

“Almost?”

“It would take too long to explain.”

“I am prepared to hear any explanation you have come to give.  However, before we can proceed, I must stipulate some conditions.”

“Oh …,”

In her right hand, Mrs. Atkinson held a piece of paper, creased and soiled.  She looked at it now with an expression that he could not fathom.  As best he could tell, it seemed like distaste.

“All right,” she said.

She hid the paper behind her back, straightened her spine and gave him unbroken eye contact.

“What are your conditions?”

“Firstly, that you relocate the food concession.  Vulcans do not consume flesh; we find the sight and smell of cooked meat highly unpleasant.  Secondly, that you appoint a small group to represent your cause, and we will meet with you in here.  There is no need to gain our attention with noise or placards or traffic disruption.”

Mrs. Atkinson tipped her head to one side for five seconds.

“And if I make these things happen,” she replied, “you’d also agree to meet with me separately, and hear my cause?”

Then Sarek needed a few seconds himself.  Mrs. Atkinson had outmanoeuvred him and gained advantage.  It was no great concession to accommodate her request, but he would need to reconsider what kind of human stood in Ground Floor 2 conference room.

“I agree to hear you separately.”

“Then please excuse me.”

She crushed the piece of paper in her hand, fixed her eyes on him and marched straight for the doorway where he was standing.  Sarek moved aside.  As she passed, she smiled at him.

Sarek briefed Kutel before he returned to his office.  He worked on the treaty draft for another forty-six minutes and thirty-one seconds before his assistant interrupted again.

“Ambassador, the protest is dispersing.”

Together, they went up to the roof of the consulate and watched as the concession was dismantled and the crowd thinned.  Sarek could see Mrs. Atkinson, identifiable because she wore a dark turtleneck sweater in heat that had encouraged her fellow humans to choose lighter clothing.

He met her again in the conference room.  She had retained the piece of paper, prodigiously wrinkled but pressed flat on the table and filled with a handwritten list of names and contact numbers.

“These people have been nominated to represent the protestors,” she said.  “They apologise for the smell --,”

Her lips closed and she twisted the muscles round her mouth.

“Okay, that’s not true.  They didn’t apologise.  I’m apologising for them, because I’m hoping they will learn, eventually.”

Sarek perused the names.

“They are fortunate to have your intercession,” he remarked.

“You can say that again.  Oh --,”

Mrs. Atkinson bit her bottom lip.

“Sorry, idiom,” she said it as much to herself as to him.  “Mustn’t do idioms.”

“I have learned that particular figure of speech,” he replied.  “May I ask how you came to be this intercessor?”

“Someone in the crowd recognised me as I was making my way to the embassy gates.  Said he was one of my former students, but you know, they change so much when they grow up.  His name had a familiar ring.  Anyway, he said if anyone could get a Vulcan to sit up and listen, it would be me.  Then, you know, the people round him crowded in a bit, pushed these leaflets at me …,”

She turned over the paper so that Sarek could see the printed side.

“They pressured you to represent the protest?” he asked.

“Partly,” she allowed.  “One guy in particular, who had a name badge, so I assumed he was in charge.  But it occurred to me that I was more likely to get some time with you if I appeared to be speaking for all those people.”

Sarek allowed his eyebrows to furrow.

“I am curious," he said.  "It seems odd that this leader should place his trust in a stranger, and moreso that he should respond to the demands you presented when we finished our previous meeting.”

“Well, I know a little Vulcan.  Not much,” she qualified her assertion, “but it only takes a few words and people like that think you are an expert.”

“People like that?”

“Ignorant people,” Mrs. Atkinson explained.  "That is why the new Academy is so important.  It’s going to set the standard for Terran education, make sure children don’t grow up with that ‘my planet is the centre of the universe’ mentality.  That needs to be the norm, not just for Starfleet personnel.”

Sarek had a moment of realisation.  “You are one of the faculty at the school run by Siasa Laar,” he said.

“Yes,” Mrs. Atkinson answered, and smiled again.

Sarek placed his hand on the piece of paper and drew it closer.  He lifted it, to give the impression he was reading the protest leaflet. 

He was actually giving himself time to think.  Very likely Mrs. Atkinson had been sent to restate her principal’s request for the enrolment of Vulcan pupils.  Had she said as much on her arrival, it was true that her chances of meeting him personally would have been slight.  He would have asked Kutel or some junior diplomat to see her.

But aside from the true reason for her visit, she had demonstrated an impressive ability to assess the mitigating factors of her situation, seize an opportunity and turn it to her advantage, while demonstrating a broad and sincere concern for the needs of all parties in a negotiation.  It was not difficult to imagine that she was also an excellent teacher.

“I will ask my assistant to contact the protest organisers with provisional dates for a meeting,” he said, setting the paper on the edge of the table nearest the door.  “I will also request tea for myself.  May I offer you any refreshment, Mrs. Atkinson?”

He was the recipient of a third smile. 

“Tea would be lovely,” she said.  “And please -- call me Amanda.” 


	7. Given the Circumstances

“ _Bakuru ale kidamata ku hase dila_!”

Nyota reversed the video segment by six seconds, and played that speech again.  Scotty’s mobile probes perfectly resembled the Nibiru anemones, but they could not move quickly.  Eight days after their introduction and gradual infiltration, this was the first footage captured inside the pyramidal structure which stood at the heart of the Leruta community.

And it was rich with information.  Nyota just needed to work out the meaning of some new vocabulary.

She was so absorbed she didn’t notice Nurse Bristow enter the lab, until there was tapping on the transparent door of her soundproofed capsule.  Nyota asked the computer to open the hatch.

“Gajra and I are going for coffee in the nurses’ lounge,” Rowena said.  “Want to join us?”

“Oh,” Nyota put her hand against her throat – she was thirsty.  “Good idea.”

She smiled as she followed Bristow out into MedBay C corridor.  What were the odds that this invitation had been Gajra’s suggestion?  Nurse Anand supervised isolation monitoring – checking the vital signs of any Enterprise crew member working alone.  She’d know that Nyota had gone six hours inside the capsule without a break.

Gajra would also know Spock’s vital signs.  But Nyota made up her mind not to ask, not this time.

Nurse Bristow turned to her when they entered the lounge.

“What’ll it be?”

“Cornish Catimor, medium roast, halved with double protein hot milk,” Nyota replied, “I’m a bit hungry too.”

“Bet you are,” Rowena said.  “I’ll get it – you sit down.”

She pointed to the sofa where Gajra Anand had already made herself comfortable.

Of course, Len McCoy had told both nurses about the latest probe data.  The indigenous humanoids of Nibiru did not know it, but in the Enterprise Med Bay they had a small fan club.  Nyota was given time to enjoy the first swallows of her latte before the questions began.

“So what’s it like, inside that place?” Gajra wanted to know.

“Very white,” Nyota said.  “I would say they coat the walls and ceiling with the same paste used on their bodies.”

Rowena frowned.  “If that’s the case, there must be some need for it.  Not just decorative -- don’t you think?”

“I do,” Nyota said.  “Scotty and Chekov are trying to think of a way to collect a sample without attracting attention.”

“What else?” Gajra asked.

Data from the USS Resolute agreed with what they’d observed -- the Leruta were active by night and slept during the day.  McCoy believed their eye structure might have an adaptation to help them see in darkness.  When their sun rose each morning, there was some custom which obligated them to finish their activities by gathering inside this structure, built at the foot of the smoking volcano.

“They sit on the floor in two groups,” Nyota said, “around the sides of the building, and leave the middle of the room clear.  And you know the paving stones?  Those are in the centre of the floor, stacked in a conical formation maybe a meter tall.  The topmost stone is thicker and has a recess cut across it.  They keep a scroll there.”

She talked more about the interior décor – the markings on the walls, the curious frames that seemed to be looms for the production of their distinctive yellow cloth, the pallets suspended from the white ceiling rafters like oversized playground swings.

She didn’t tell them what happened inside the structure, what events the probe camera had recorded.  It was too soon to make sense of them.

And on her way back to the capsule, Nyota considered what little they could say with confidence about the indigenous culture.  Only living among the Leruta would guarantee an understanding of their language.  While listening to the USS Resolute’s recordings, she found the sounds began to remind her of Deltan.  And when she used that known language as a template – trying to superimpose the phonemes, word roots and syntax onto Lerutan speech, her translation guesses made sense in the context of what the people seemed to be doing as they spoke.

The capsule hatch made a satisfying, watertight sound as it shut her back inside.  If her linguistic theory was correct, it suggested the humanoids of Nibiru may have been visited before, in a time before there was any Prime Directive.

And in this private space, she could ask herself the question she didn’t feel it was wise to say out loud.  How harmful would their intervention really be?

For all anyone knew, aliens might well have visited Earth when Terrans were still living in caves or establishing the first agricultural civilisations along major rivers.  After First Contact, archaeologists, anthropologists and cultural historians began to look differently at theories about human history which had once been considered nonsense, theories suggesting that human development was aided by interaction with extra-terrestrials.

And First Contact changed humans for the better.  On a few occasions, Nyota had wanted to argue with Spock, to say “If it weren’t for First Contact and Vulcan interference, I would not be the person I am.”

And he would not exist.

To distract herself from this line of thinking, she reversed the video feed by four minutes, and watched again the mystery ritual that occurred inside the gathering place.

The replay began where the chanting ended.  The gathered Leruta had been shouting _“Ku tem, ku tem, ku tem”._ Nyota believed they were saying, “Tell us, tell us”.

One individual kept apart from the rest, stood rather than sat in the unoccupied centre of the floor near the stone formation.  The Leruta addressed this one as _Ukila.  Ukila_ carried a heavy, red wood staff and wore a robe rather than a loincloth.  The motion of their free hand was enough to silence the assembly.

Though she’d watched it multiple times and transcribed the sounds, Nyota could made little sense of the short speech _Ukila_ gave.  It seemed to mention the volcano – even the researchers on the Resolute worked out that indiginous gestures directed at the mountain were often followed with sentences containing the word _dume_.  But there were phrases that defied Nyota’s theory of Deltan influence.  The translations she came up with were gibberish.

“ _Bakuru ale kidamata ku hase dila_!”

“A meal, or taste … help a stomach – that next sound must be a verb, but I can’t even guess – is it eat?  A meal helps a stomach eat fire?  No, that’s ridiculous.”

The video continued to run while she speculated.  _Ukila_ concluded their address by lifting their staff and using it like a pointer, to indicate the four pallets suspended from the ceiling.  At first glance, each one seemed to be holding supplies stored in lumpy grey bags, until the bags began to move.  And then it was clear that each pallet held a person, completely covered in cloth as if their bodies had been wrapped for burial.

Three adults and two small children sat up on the pallets.  You could see then that the grey material provided each of them with a baggy, hooded robe and a scarf to conceal their faces.

The Leruta seated on the floor bowed their heads, and in unison they said _ilu dume humet._ And that was a translation Nyota felt certain she got right – “mountain not kill”.

Was it possible they prayed for deliverance from an eruption?

They repeated the prayer ten times, then lifted their heads and got up onto their knees.  _Ukila_ reached for the scroll that was kept at the top of the stone formation.  When they opened it and displayed the contents to one side of the room, the people prostrated themselves.

The probe filmed from the wrong position.  _Ukila_ presented the scroll to the people on both sides of the floor, but the camera was never in a place where it could film what either group got to see.    

She spent the last hour of her shift reviewing the video, ignoring the ritual and focussed instead on individuals.  While the assembly went through their motions, the camera captured expressions of anguish while heads were bowed, mouths that did not repeat the prayer because the owners seemed overcome with emotion.

Nyota shed tears as she watched.  And at the same time she scolded herself.  Is this what space exploration would do, turn her into a cry baby?

Spock had been too indulgent.  When he returned from his first surface exploration of the volcano, he went to MedBay as soon as his heat suit could be safely removed.  Maybe Gajra Anand had told him how much higher Lieutenant Uhura’s blood pressure and heart rate had been throughout his absence, or maybe he checked himself.  At any rate he knocked on the hatch of her capsule and surprised her.

Then, with no regard for professional decorum, he lifted her out of her chair and sat there himself, holding her in his lap.  His request that she teach him Lerutan vocabulary barely counted as work, since he massaged her neck and shoulders throughout, and repeated the words with his lips against her cheek.

And he would not accept her apology for giving in to that same old, irrational fear that she would lose him suddenly, the same way she lost her parents and T’Shin.

“I believe I identify with your sentiments closely, given the circumstances in which I lost my mother,” he said.

And he melded with her mind, to enhance their sense of connection.  She had been wondering, since then, whether it would be rude by Vulcan standards for her to ask if they could be bonded.  Maybe (why had she never considered this before?) Spock was following some custom which dictated that she must do the asking, since she had been the one to claim him.

And what if the earrings had been his way of dropping a hint?

These were the times when she missed the katra of her guardian most.

She might try to send a message to New Vulcan, and ask Ambassador Spock.  But in the meantime, she could not keep letting emotion override her judgement, not if she wanted to excel as a Starfleet officer.

Toughen up, she ordered herself.  

***

“Commander,” Spock heard Engineer Scott’s voice through the helmet’s amplifier.  “How does your suit hold up in the heat?”

A joke, at this point, might have been the human response.

Spock had dropped from the shuttlecraft three minutes and thirteen seconds ago.  While in midair he scanned the eastern slope of the volcano, the furthest distance away from the humanoid community, and identified the path he had used on his previous visit.  Then he directed Lieutenant Sulu so that the shuttle brought him nearer to the slope, enough to get his feet on the ground.

According to readings in the upper left face of his visor, it was fifty one degrees centigrade at his location.  In the deserts of Gol, where he survived his _Kahs-wan_ ordeal, average temperatures were comparable.

Spock recalled a Standard idiom which referred to unclothed skin as a ‘birthday suit’.  Were he adept at humour, he might have amused the Chief Engineer with some play on words to imply that, at this distance from the crater, he would have been perfectly comfortable naked.

Joking aside, the heat suit would need to prove itself soon enough.

Before beginning to climb, Spock checked the route before and behind him.  There was no question that humanoid hands with tools had constructed this trail, cut it out of the slope.  The timing of his second visit to the surface of Nibiru had been chosen to coincide with the midpoint of the Lerutan sleep cycle.  Air jets in the soles of his boots would erase his footprints.  But he could not begin work until he had checked again for signs that anyone else had used the path recently.

He found none.

And so he repeated the journey he made on his previous visit, climbing twelve hundred and sixty-six meters up and around the slope.  At the places he had stopped to extract samples of the rock face, he was pleased to see that fine dust had filled the niches and made them inconspicuous.  White ash created a haze in the air, absorbing sound and drawing in the limits of long distance visibility.  

The trail ended atop a ledge, roughly sixteen meters long by two meters wide.  It overlooked the sheer slope of the crater that plummeted down into the caldera of the volcano.  That vast bowl was filled with magma, a black crusted soup that popped and gargled.  Behind those sounds there was a constant background surge, like the turbulence of water approaching its boiling point.

Spock walked carefully.  He searched for and found two of the sensors he had concealed under loose stones.  The third, he now confirmed, had stopped working because it sat where a portion of the ledge had succumbed to the increasing long period vibrations and collapsed.

There was a replacement sensor waiting in the right upper arm compartment of the suit.  But as he watched more rock fall from the other side of the crater, he questioned whether there was any justification for deploying it.  What the instruments told him, what he now observed at close range, was that the volcano was pressurising, building to some kind of event.

The temperature reading on his visor had risen to two hundred and ten degrees.

In the end he decided there was good reason to use the replacement – the more volatile the mountain became, the greater the chance that he would lose another sensor.  Spock knelt down, placed the new device on the ledge.  He gathered some of the accumulating ash into a mound over that.  Then he tried to shut the compartment on his right sleeve, but it would not remain closed.  After four attempts to lock the cover, he made a mental note to tell Mr. Scott about the defect.

He was about to stand when he noticed that the mound of ash had somehow been displaced, and the third sensor was no longer concealed.  Puzzling.  Spock covered the device again and watched to see if anything would uncover it a second time. 

After twelve seconds of observation, a grey, fluid object entered his line of sight and with quick, sweeping motions it dispersed the ashes.

As it withdrew, Spock followed its motion, turned his head to the left and found himself face to face with a Lerutan child.

Some instinct instructed both his hands to pinch thumb and fourth finger together, which would mute his comms link with the shuttle.  But after that, he had no notion of what to do.

If the indigenous people developed like humans, this little one might be three years old.  The child’s expression was blank with innocence; it did not yet know fear.  It stepped closer to Spock to stare at the plating on his heat suit, while unselfconsciously flapping the sleeve of its grey robe to shake off the dust.

Spock checked his temperature gauge again and asked himself what means the toddler had to survive the heat.  And following on from that question, his mind made the logical deduction that a child so young would not likely climb the mountain alone.  It was probable he would soon have more company on the ledge.

As if prompted by the thought, more Leruta appeared.  Three adults, also dressed in grey robes, reached the top of the trail.  One of them carried an infant against their body.

“ _Tili!”_

This cry from the new arrivals caught the child’s attention.  It turned abruptly and ran through the ash-misted air to join them.

Spock decided his best course of action was inaction, to remain still and quiet and rely on the possibility that these sleep deprived humanoids might fail to notice him.  He was gratified that the child, having reached the adults, did not draw their attention to the location of its strange encounter.

Instead, the little one accepted guiding hands on each shoulder that turned it to face the crater.  The entire group shuffled closer to the dangerous lip of the ledge, where the waves of heat rippled up from the boiling magma and the temperature would surely ignite their robes, however they were constructed.

A memory seemed to project itself onto Spock’s visor.  He saw another ledge, this one on Vulcan, and another small group standing on uncertain ground.  He heard himself shout into his communicator--

_“Spock to Enterprise – get us out now!”_

This action had caused him to release the grip he had on his mother’s arm.  To remember those next moments meant fighting an urge to seize what could no longer be grasped.  He blinked several times, to try and disrupt the flashback.

His eyes opened to witness fresh horror.  The Lerutan adult who had guided the child across the ledge lifted it clear of the ground by grasping the hood of its robe, shouted words Spock could barely hear over the volcano’s noise, and threw the toddler into the crater.


	8. Scream

The child’s scream opened Spock’s mouth.

As a result, air was swallowed.  It burned Spock’s throat as if it came from outside his suit.  And when it reached his stomach pain returned, pain that had not tormented him in months.  His armoured hand clanked against his body, metal on metal, unable to soothe the flesh beneath.

The terrible sound did not last seconds.  But he continued to hear it. 

Spock worked to regulate his breathing without closing his eyes.  He needed to continue observing the Lerutans.  The remaining adults staggered back from the brink of the ledge.  The one who had killed the child displayed greatest loss of balance, and might have collapsed except that one of the others acted to break the fall.  The two of them clung to each other, clearly overcome by the mountain and the murder.

The humanoid who held the infant stood apart.  Like Spock, they breathed hard, open mouthed.  Unlike him, their air supply was not temperature controlled.  However adapted the inhabitants of Nibiru might be to deal with a volcano’s heat, Spock saw the limit of their endurance as blood began to run from the nostrils of that one Leruta, travelling over their mouth and chin to drip onto the baby’s wrapping.

And then they dropped their head, let out another scream and charged blindly at the crater.

Spock heard himself shout back.

Pain punched a gap in his thinking.  In that lost time his body moved across the ledge quickly, but not quickly enough.  He became aware of himself all of a sudden, panting, staring ahead while the two remaining Leruta, only an arm’s length away, stared back.

Too late.  Again, he was too late, and there was death.  All the words he could no longer say to his mother, and all the indigenous words Nyota taught him swam inside his head.  One surfaced.

 _“Hut!”_  

The meaning, as best they could tell from the probe data, was stop or wait.

 _“Hut!”_ Spock said again.

The Leruta said nothing, did not move.  There was no struggle when Spock caught their robes by the sleeves and pulled.  They were easy to lead.  Spock took them back to the head of the trail and then several meters down the slope to escape the worst heat.  When he could no longer withstand his own pain he let them go and sank to his knees.  That did not suffice.  Spock curled his body until the top of his helmet touched the ground.

In his peripheral vision, white ash swirled.  It reminded him of the snow in Skamania County, Washington, and he asked himself if this was how it would be, if he would become unable to function again.

But the memory of recovery seemed to act like an antidote.  That, and the gentle voices of the two Lerutans, who now began to speak.  Spock straightened up carefully, uncomfortable but not debilitated, and found that the pair were kneeling in front of him.

He tried to understand their words, because their hands were extended to him, as if pleading.  They mentioned the mountain – _dume_ – frequently.  And equally, there were different alimentary concepts: meal or food or feed, stomach or satiety (with confirming gestures to their abdomens).  In time it seemed clear to him that they perceived the volcano to be an organism, like themselves, that required nourishment.

He could not manage to contain his own sorrow.  Tears weighed on his lower eyelids; the only way he believed he could keep them from overflowing was if he could say more to them, stop the worst.  It took a few seconds to work out an effective response from so little vocabulary.

“ _Umi,”_ Nyota believed this was their first person pronoun.  Spock said it while thumping his hand against the breastplates of his suit.  _“Umi bakuru dume.”_

_I feed the mountain._

He said it again, as a command.  And then he pointed at the path behind that led down the slope.

“ _Kita_.”

Nyota had shown him how often the Leruta used this word while gesticulating away from themselves.  They could not be sure what it meant, because the possibilities were diverse – it could translate “over there”, “travel”, “go”, “far” or even be the word for “ocean” because that happened to be the direction of their hand movements.

Spock could only hope it conveyed his desire to send them back to their community.  He repeated himself and waited.

The Lerutan pair hesitated, each checking the reaction of the other.  One of them rose and gingerly stepped round Spock, beginning a descent.  That seemed to be a test of their understanding – once they established that the strange being with its hard shell did not react, the second humanoid followed the first.  Spock held still for a full minute before he turned his head to find that he could barely see their retreating figures through the ash haze.

Before they had vanished completely, Spock felt increasing tension on the cable attached to his hip.  And a missing dimension of reality reinstated itself in his awareness.  He remembered that the shuttle could not communicate with him, and without doubt Nurse Anand had alerted Lieutenant Sulu and Engineer Scott to alarming changes in his bioreadings.

A stronger pull from the cable lifted his knees from the ground, dragged him off the path and into the air.  As he rose over the crater he saw the spot where he laid the replacement sensor.  He had neglected to cover it after his encounter with the child.

Of all the charges which could now be brought against him, that infringement would be minor.

But there wasn’t opportunity to consider the situation further, not then.  The cable lifted him up to the shuttle’s hatch, where he caught the rungs of the ladder which had been put in place for his use.  He climbed up into the hold, saw the Chief Engineer and Doctor McCoy tethered by safety harnesses and standing by with hydraulic clamps which could have hoisted him into the craft, if that were required.

He heard Scott shout, “He’s in, Sulu -- shut us up!” 

Once the hatch had closed, Spock set his feet on the floor.  Steam wafted from his suit.  It blurred his view through the visor – he presumed that McCoy aimed a tricorder in his direction.  Scott donned a pair of Kevlar gauntlets and tool belt before he walked past the Commander and beyond the periphery of his visor.  Pressure on his left shoulder told Spock the Engineer was working to remove the heat suit helmet.

As soon as that was done, and his head was free, the doctor asked, “What happened down there?”

The Chief Engineer did not stop what he was doing, draining the stored gas pockets that had served as Spock’s insulation.  But Montgomery Scott glanced at his Commander’s face with clear concern.  Spock did not feel ready for such close scrutiny.

“Doctor,” he could say truthfully, “I was unexpectedly reminded of the last minutes I spent on the surface of Vulcan.  I apologise for my reaction – please be assured that I was not in danger.  If you would allow me some time undisturbed, I believe I can meditate --,”

“You’ll get plenty of time, Commander,” McCoy interrupted.  “I have to treat your bioscan readings as a serious impairment.  You are suspended from duty for the next eight hours, and I’ll need you remain in here, at rest.  Now I hope you won’t --,”

“I will obey your order,” Spock interrupted him in return.

That level of cooperation was not likely what the doctor expected, and it seemed to make him lose his train of thought.  He did not ask further questions.

***

Nyota got a message from Ensign Alda to tell her that Spock was back on board the shuttle.

She did not let herself check how long it would take the craft to reach the Enterprise in orbit.  She went to the nurses’ lounge instead and replicated a bowl of Orion _jouta_ with sauce on the side, because she preferred it dry.

Spock would be stuck in shuttle bay at least an hour, while the expedition files were reviewed and the vessel underwent contamination scans.

When Nurse Anand came to find her, and explained how she had reacted to Spock’s bioscan changes, that was concerning.  But Nyota felt reassured, because his symptoms were short-lived and he had acknowledged the emotional root cause.  His eight hour medical suspension coincided with her sleep shift.  But she checked with Doctor McCoy first.  When he told her Spock was deep in meditation she told herself that’s exactly what she needed to do, to achieve her aim for greater mental strength and detachment.                 

***

In the altered state of consciousness Vulcans called _s’thaupi,_ the mind ceased to be a source of identity and became neutral, like a mechanism.  Thinking did not cease – that was an intermediate stage which Terrans could and did achieve as a practice.  Cognitive function during _s’thaupi_ became fluid and efficient, because there was no emotional interference, not even the impetus for self-preservation.  Its workings presented themselves as if calculated by some external source, dropped facts and conclusions into place easily.

In this way Spock analysed his predicament.

In summary, he had committed multiple violations of the Federation’s Prime Directive.  He made face to face contact with pre-warp, non-Federation intelligent life, shown or left behind examples of technology they were incapable of understanding, interfered with their cultural practices and assumed authority over them.

These actions created two problems.  One was the infraction of Starfleet regulations, which disqualified him from service.  The second was cultural.  The Vulcan way strove to be truthful, or at very least true to one’s words.  He told the Leruta that he would feed the mountain.  Regardless of what they understood him to mean, the intention behind his words had been to use his greater knowledge to do what they could not do themselves – stop the volcano from destroying them.

 _S’thaupi_ worked to bring him to these solutions:

Since he was disqualified from Starfleet, and no further action he knew could restore his former status, he was free to do whatever he saw fit to save the people of Nibiru.  However, there was no logical reason why he should choose actions which would make other crew members guilty of his crimes.  Provided they were prevented from having any contact with the Leruta or awareness of his contact, and if their participation in any project to save Lerutan lives was understood to be an act of obedience to orders issued from Starfleet Headquarters, they would remain innocent of any violation.

The power supplied by this form of mental discipline also gave Spock the ability to divide his cognitive state, make multiple minds from his one.  While part of him began to devise a detailed plan for dealing with the volcano, other parts addressed the two major difficulties which would confront him, regardless of how he proceeded.

The first difficulty was Jim Kirk.  Only the captain’s full cooperation would ensure success.  And yet logic dictated that any effort to secure Kirk’s agreement should also endeavour to preserve his Starfleet office.

The second difficulty was Nyota.

Spock learned that even in a state of mind devoid of emotion, there was still something meaningful about Nyota.  This fact was noted, but that did not interfere with his thought processes except to insist that he guarantee her best interests.  Continuing to have an intimate relationship with a disgraced former officer would not be one of these.

***

Nyota congratulated herself.  One hour of meditation, seven hours of undisturbed sleep, and no attempt to check on Spock apart from a quick glance at their timetables before she left her cabin to get breakfast.

Then she had one tiny lapse.  Nothing worse than mild disappointment – she would have expected to see him in the refectory but his schedule had been altered so that he was now taking a meal in the captain’s quarters.

She shouldn’t have let her eye wander, looking for the next time.  The ship’s computer constantly modified all crew shift patterns.  Changes were typically minor, and could be caused by any number of factors, so it was a waste of energy to try and work out why and considered very bad form to ask.

So okay, there was nothing for the next seventy-two hours.  That was starship life.  Knowing Spock, he would find ways to compensate, and might even modify the shift patterns himself if he thought it necessary.  But if he didn’t, then she was capable of managing.

She put on his earrings and shook her head so the pendants gently tapped her neck.  Then she grabbed her PADD and marched out of her quarters.

***

“You don’t normally drink coffee,” Jim said, as he placed the freshly replicated cup beside the Commander’s bowl of … hmm …

Jim decided it might be better to remain ignorant.

Spock replied, “I do not.  But it is helpful for a First Officer to understand, as much as possible, the personal tastes and predilections of their captain.”    

Jim had seven seconds to think about that while the replicator produced his black bean tamales with a side of fruit salad.  Not his usual breakfast.  If he hadn’t agreed to this private meeting, he would have chosen differently, which said something about how Spock’s personal tastes (which Spock?  He sure as hell couldn’t tell) had rubbed off on him.

Occasionally – like now – Jim took advantage of his position.  On the bridge he sat with his back to his First Officer, and had a perpetual – okay, probably imaginary sense of being watched by those dark eyes.  But inside his own quarters he got to decide the seating arrangement.  He put Spock in a place facing away from the replicator, giving himself a chance to feel like the person who did the watching, the one in control of their relationship. 

 _Relationship_.  He’d never used that word about Spock and himself in Spock’s hearing, and if he ever did he’d be sure to put a weird kind of stress on it, because that’s how it felt – weird.  They were not friends, and yet he’d get this sense of warm nostalgia now and again like they’d known each other since they were kids.  Or take this morning: he swore under his breath when he saw Spock's message requesting this meeting, yet as the time got closer he was like a girl waiting for her date to turn up, watching the door to his quarters as if he could see through it.

Ambassador Spock said the mind to mind encounters he’d had with two half Vulcans would wear off, but he didn’t say _when._    

Jim tried to decide, as he lifted his plate off the replicator, what percentage of this bizarre attachment was real, and maybe wouldn’t go away because it was him.  He figured having a good stare at the back of Spock’s head might help, but it did nothing except cool his tamales.

“So,” he said, giving up and sitting down to face his second in command, “what’re we talking about?”

Spock held his coffee cup under his nose.  He had just taken a sip of the contents, swallowed, and lifted his eyes to look across the table.

And Jim thought, _my god Uhura, how do you_ \--,

And then he scratched the rest out of his mind, as hard as he could.

“Captain…,”

Spock, of course, was totally business, put his cup back on the table elegantly and indicated the PADD he had placed between them so Jim could read.

“The sensor data I have compiled, combined with my own observation of the volcano, suggest high probability that an event of some kind will occur soon to release subterranean pressure.”

“An eruption.  Okay, so are the Lerutans in danger?”

“I believe they are.”

“So we should inform Starfleet.”

For some reason, Spock needed a moment to think.  McCoy said he’d meditated for six hours, which had to be enough –

“The time it may take to receive their decision,” the Commander finally replied, “may be time the mountain does not have.”

Jim started cutting his tamale into bite sized pieces.  “You’re saying we should just go ahead?”

“I am.”

“You’re agreeing with me?”

Jim wasn’t hiding the amazement in his voice.  Spock raised an eyebrow, but would not commit to more.

“It seems clear to me that intelligent life on this world is now in mortal danger.  I believe we have the data to justify our actions to the Admiralty after the fact.”

Jim chewed and swallowed and cleaned his palate with coffee.  This sensation, of being in harmony with a more experienced officer who once wanted to kill him, needed getting used to and yet felt so natural Jim took another bite of his breakfast without thinking.

“Well that’s great,” he said with his mouth full.  “I mean, not the volcano, obviously.”

“I did not mistake your meaning, Captain.”

“Mr. Spock, from what I’ve seen you don’t mistake anything.”  He reached over to tap his fork against the Commander’s cup.  “Let’s get started.” 


	9. Secret Testimony

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A shorter chapter this time, because I don't want to keep everyone waiting another week but, for various reasons, I have not had enough time to produce more words. Please bear with me -- I expect usual service to resume shortly.

_Starfleet Secured – File access limited to Named Users Only:  Christopher Pike no. 35.06.109, Commander Spock no. 53.03.217, Ambassador Spock of New Vulcan._

_First Officer's Personal Log, live video format, verified edit lock set, verified anti-destruction lock set._

_Recording Date/Time Stardate 2259.10, mission Nibiru day 27, alpha shift time 1133._

**Part One – Public statement**

Admiral Pike, I submit this file in advance of the actions which will take place after this recording, to stand as evidence in the event of a Starfleet disciplinary hearing which tries the crew of the USS Enterprise on charges of violating General Order One during the current exploration mission to class M planet Nibiru in Eta Serpentis sector.

I wish it to be known that I was the first crew member to set foot on the surface of the planet and the initial violation of the Prime Directive was mine. You will find a sub-file containing detailed testimony about this incident. Let it also be known that I disabled the communications array in my helmet at the time to withhold this information from the captain and senior officers.

Ship's records will show I met with Captain Kirk privately at 0815 Alpha shift today, and the secretly recorded footage of this meeting is contained in an additional sub-file.

All I wish to add to that evidence is to state that it was my intention to exploit three conditions: the Captain's lack of experience, his expressed inclination to intervene and save the intelligent life on the planet, as well as a residual psi attachment between the two of us, the circumstances of which you will recall.

Captain Kirk deferred to my recommendation that we could act without prior authorisation from Starfleet. Therefore I propose that his decision was not a violation of the Prime Directive, but an act of trust.

Being fully aware of my own crimes, and the irrational nature of my actions on Nibiru, I accept that I am no longer fit to serve in Starfleet. But I am willing to serve the inhabitants of Nibiru, according to the pledge I gave them. I intend to allow the volcano to devour me.

This intention is logical. There is no safe way to intervene that will not risk further violations of Starfleet orders. There are unsafe ways. The way I have proposed to the Captain places me in the greatest danger, but ensures that the indigenous people have no further encounters with Starfleet personnel or our technology.

I would also ask that no one be prosecuted for causing my death. It is my intention to sacrifice my life. I believe this action compensates for the dishonour I would otherwise bring upon Starfleet, upon the Vulcan people for my failure to control an emotional reaction, and upon my family line.

Admiral, this point in the recording is the end of the testimony I wish to make public.

**Part Two – Private Statement**

The public statement makes clear the degree of subterfuge I had to employ to protect the reputations of the Enterprise crew. I have great respect for all of them. But you are aware of my regard for one particular officer, because you made possible the relationship which developed between myself and Lieutenant Nyota Uhura.

I am asking you to reassure her, because in the time leading up to my death I will take all possible measures to keep us apart. This is for her protection. I expect a Starfleet tribunal would doubt her innocence if we continued to be intimate.

My affection and admiration for Nyota remains undiminished. And I can only make such a claim if my desire for her company does not exceed my concern for her future. She is an exceptional officer. I would not demean her by continuing to live, and thereby obliging her to decide between her career or a relationship with a disgraced former colleague.

My primary intention in making this private recording is to ask if you would make these points clear to her at a suitable opportunity.

Finally, I wish to apologise. During the years I served under your command, you made considerable effort to aid my advancement and passed on much valuable experience. This, in addition to the training given at the Academy, was a significant investment. I regret that I have not made that investment worthwhile.

Live long and prosper, Admiral. Spock out.

 


	10. Decisions of the Heart

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Readers, I apologise for the delay with this chapter. I like to get you new reading material every Friday, because who doesn't want a treat at the start of a weekend? But I lost one of my weekends (for a good cause) and my thirty year old bathroom is being ripped out and rebuilt. You all know the chaos that happens when you redecorate.  
> Everything should get back to normal this week, and I want to try and publish three more chapters between now and Sunday, the 2nd of September.

Still gazing over the illusory shoulder of his late bondmate, Sarek watched himself drink tea with the human school teacher, her earlier incarnation, in Ground Floor 2 conference room.  Mrs. Atkinson continued to reveal unexpected aspects of herself.  Her Vulcan vocabulary was rudimentary but well pronounced.  She told him that Maitland Grayson, her father, held life tenure with the University of Washington, and used one of his sabbatical years to study agrobiology at the Vulcan Science Academy.  Since his children’s Terran aptitude tests had placed them in the top five percentile group for their respective ages, the widowed professor enrolled them in the nearest school.

“Humbling,” was the word Mrs. Atkinson used, when she described meeting one of her classmates, also six years old, who could already speak and write Standard and Andorian, solve quadratic equations and initiate discussion about events in twenty-first century Earth history which Amanda had yet to be taught.

And as a result of these experiences, Mrs. Atkinson had a difference of opinion with the principal of Vuhnaya Academy.

“Siasa Laar is fixated with having Vulcan enrolment,” Amanda said, “but I believe there are better ways to bring Terran and Vulcan children together.”

And then she made her own proposal.

“I would like to send small groups of human students, individuals approved by this Embassy, to Vulcan.  We can use our learning bowls to share their attainment levels with Vulcan teachers and prepare them to spend a short time on _your_ world, adjusting to _your_ culture.”

Sarek sipped tea and considered.  The proposal had much to commend it – a limit to the commitment of time and the number of individuals involved, pre-eminence given to Vulcan norms, no educational disadvantage to Vulcan children and the prospect of improved understanding between their peoples.

When he said as much to her, Amanda added, “And great benefit to our students.  I may not have appreciated my father’s decision when I was six, but I do now.”

He agreed to contact Siasa Laar and suggest this exchange. 

“But also --,” Amanda interjected, rose slightly from her chair and extended an arm over their tea set.  Half way across the space between them she halted.   She withdrew the arm as if seized by some mysterious pain, sat down and was silent.

“Mrs. Atkinson?”

Many years later, she would tell him her sharp exhalation of breath was called a huff.

“That was terrible,” the school teacher said.  “I apologise.”

“I do not see that you have done or said anything which warrants an apology.”

“I was reaching over to touch you, as if you were human...,”

“A social habit, and therefore initiated unconsciously,” Sarek attempted to dismiss her oversight.

“But it is insulting.  And I should know better.”

Sarek watched Mrs. Atkinson pause, and her dark eyes listed to the left in an expression of introspection.

“It is possible I am fatigued after all that has happened today,” she spoke carefully, with few changes in tone.  “And this contributed to my lapse.”

She stood out of her chair, folded her hands behind her back.

"I wanted to ask you not to mention my visit. It would displease Siasa Laar to know I acted without her authority.”

“I defer to your judgement,” he replied, and then asked, “Do you wish to leave?”

Her eyes had glanced twice in the direction of the door.

“I believe you have tolerated enough of my human company.”

Sarek processed mild astonishment as well as a reluctance to end their conversation.  Mrs. Atkinson perceived only that he put down his teacup and stood.

“I would be an unfortunate choice for Terran ambassador if tolerance was the most I could extend to humans,” he countered.

Amanda lifted her eyebrows  – an allowance for the truth in his statement.

“I hope your negotiations with the protesters achieve workable solutions,” she said.

In that same instant, a workable solution was what occurred to Sarek.

“I am hopeful you may witness the results in person, Mrs. Atkinson.  Given your obvious skills as an intermediary, and your understanding of both cultures, I am inviting you to attend the talks as my advisor.”

Her controlled expression did not hold.  Her eyes, already the most striking feature of her face, opened wider, and her jaw relaxed.

At that point in their acquaintance, he was not consciously keeping an inventory of her smiles, like the one that she tried and failed to hide.  And he did not reveal, until later, his fastidious study of all her facial expressions, or his speculation about their meaning.

Sarek called for his assistant, related his decision, and asked Kutel to issue Mrs. Atkinson with a class B consulate pass.  Kutel did as he was asked, but remarked later on the unusual nature of Amanda’s appointment.  The Vulcan Embassy had the guaranteed service of a Starfleet diplomat, Admiral Navid Mobasseri, and he was presently unoccupied.  Sarek was able to explain, without difficulty, why the Admiral’s presence would likely make negotiations more tense, because it had been Starfleet who sold them the library. 

In his right ear, Sarek heard his wife’s soft, almost inaudible sniff of amusement.

 _“Kutel suspected from the start,”_ she said.

“ _Perhaps with reason.”_

His predecessor, Tellus, had not served the full five years she was assigned to Terra.  Starbase Yorktown, newly constructed, needed an experienced diplomat and it was not unusual that she was ordered to transfer there.  Yet shortly after Sarek installed himself in Tellus’ office, he overheard two of his junior staff exchange speculations they had heard about their former Ambassador – mentioning the then Dean of Faculty, a Starfleet cadet and one Andorian.  There seemed little substantial evidence to support these rumours, as they themselves agreed.  But it caused Sarek to recall the audience he was granted with matriarch T’Pau before he left Vulcan.

“Prepare yourself for greater scrutiny,” she had warned. 

He had taken her to mean scrutiny from Terrans.

“ _But I do not believe,”_ he said to his phantom wife, “ _there was any aspect of our interaction during the negotiations which could have been viewed by my staff as unprofessional.”_

 _“Not on your part,”_ Amanda replied.

“ _You refer only to what occurred in your thoughts, which was private.”_

Sarek could indulge himself with those thoughts now, the collected confessions bequeathed to him over many mind melds.  From their first meeting, Amanda began comparing him with her husband.

Martin Patrick Atkinson had been manager at the hotel Maitland Grayson booked for a family excursion to San Francisco, when his daughter was eighteen.  She was flattered to be noticed by a stranger, and impressed that Martin approached her father for permission before asking her out.  After the holiday they corresponded via subspace link.  Then Martin moved to Washington state and gained employment near the university where Amanda’s father taught and she had chosen to study.  According to American custom, which Sarek had never entirely understood, Martin asked Amanda if she would be his ‘steady’ girlfriend, and she accepted.

Their first liaison lasted eight months.  It ended with an arguement, and a three month gap followed, during which Amanda did not engage in any encounters with others, while Martin did.  Then she became his ‘steady’ again for a year.  Martin wanted to marry, but Amanda (and Maitland Grayson) did not think matrimony a wise decision until after she obtained her degree and some work experience.  This resulted in another termination of their pairing.

To give them both the space and liberty to reconsider, Amanda arranged a transfer to study her final year at the University of New South Wales in Australia.  She ‘dated’ – met a number of potential partners for conversation over meals or walks, and was intimate for five months with a graduate student from Tasmania named Var Szarka.  When Var was accepted by Starfleet Academy and chose the American campus, Amanda was not certain whether to continue their relationship.  She applied for teaching positions in several countries, but was accepted for the post that happened to be in San Francisco.

 _“I took that to mean something,”_ he heard her say, “ _which you will call illogical, and certainly I was wrong about the meaning, more than once.  But tell me how else you and I might have met?”_

Amanda often attributed significance to coincidences.  She and Var went to a music festival in Golden Gate Park to celebrate her twenty-fourth birthday, and though attendance that day was almost seventeen thousand, and the odds of meeting anyone she knew in a city where she had never lived low, she was tapped on the shoulder as she stood in line for refreshment and turned to see Martin Atkinson.

He gave her his PADD number.  She accepted one date, and then for several weeks she met with him secretly while she was still dating Var, telling the latter she had taken on new extra-curricular commitments.  It was hardly a viable arrangement.  She confessed this duplicity to her father, who told her it might be time to move away again and let distance help her achieve some clarity.

So she spent the spring break in Santa Fe, walked in the New Mexico desert and asked the rock formations in Chaco Canyon what she really wanted.  Teaching, she knew, could mean devotion to a single institution, as Maitland Grayson had chosen, becoming a name that parents recognised and community leaders trusted, consulted.  Martin’s determined attachment would suit that option.  It was not quite the quality of affection she got from her father or brother Andrew, but it was strong and persuasive.  Var, on the contrary, was more outward looking.  She could imagine another kind of teaching life with him, with challenging encounters and space travel, but also long periods of separation.

Neither option dissatisfied, and if anything Amanda was loathe to choose one and give up the other. 

 _“What I should have done was break off with both of them,”_ his illusionary bondmate admitted.  _“But I felt this was the universe holding out its available options and asking me to make up my mind.”_

_“I am aware of no science which can substantiate such a model of the universe.”_

_“Of course you can’t.  Vulcans aren’t permitted to have young hearts or young minds.  You are virtually adult from the womb.”_

Perhaps, Sarek thought, but it may be that such adult hearts became more troubled with age.  He found he had no inclination to dismantle the errors in her understanding, except to provoke her to say more about Vulcans and her evaluation of them in general, of him in particular.

She was married to Martin Atkinson before she turned twenty-five.  By the time she reached twenty-eight, she understood her choice had been a mistake.  Martin was not cruel or cold or unwilling to support her career.  Her colleagues adored him – he was the man who organised their staff dinner at Christmas and the end-of-year barbecue.  When the two of them decided to buy a house, he looked for properties with plenty of yard space she could cultivate.

_“It baffled me, why I was unhappy.  So you see, every time I met a new man, I would be doing this exercise in my mind – how is this one different?  And was that difference the thing I was missing?”_

Sarek experienced pleasure in the form of self-satisfaction.  He did not restrain the impulse immediately; a few seconds would not be harmful.

 _“How was I different?”_ he asked, though he already knew the answer.

 _“No no,”_ Amanda chided him, “ _let’s discuss how you were the same.  You are as attached to me as Martin was –,“_

_“I would dispute with you.  I am more attached.”_

_“To a human woman you knew you would outlive.  Now, Sarek, I need you to be sensible.”_

_“Ashayam …,”_

He tried to bury his face in her sash, but his skin made no contact with anything substantial.

_“You must seek someone else now.  You are young enough to be a father again.  You cannot remain bonded to a ghost.”_

_“Do not leave me.”_

_“I have already left you.  Sarek, listen --,”_

There was a burning in his lungs, making it difficult to breathe.  And so he had no choice but to do what she commanded.

_“There will be someone, but you must seek.  Let the dead rest.  Open your eyes and be with those who are alive.”_

Amanda turned her eyes to him.  Her face was luminous, and light streamed from her sash.  He watched the light grow stronger and bleach the dark contrast of her gaze until she was like an old stain on his mind.  The pain he felt was so great he could not move, as much as he wanted to try and grasp her, make her image sharp again.

_“Open your eyes …,”_

Perhaps, he thought, if I obey her wishes, I will be rewarded.  I will see her then.

It was not easy.  He was not certain he had control of his eyes, or any other bodily functions.  All he had was his propensity for self-control, and patience, enough to be prepared to wait.


	11. In the Days That Followed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Okay, almost back to normal, my life. And I have a long weekend, so I plan to start another chapter right away.

In spite meticulous preparation for his own death, Spock did not die.

He was alive.  Alive, even though the plans he made were executed more successfully than expected.  It had been his intention to disconnect himself from the shuttlecraft cable that lowered him into the volcano.  When the connection broke, his chances of landing on a solid surface, with the cold fusion device still intact, were approximately three point six percent.

The time he deliberately wasted, arguing with Jim Kirk about the legality of breaking the Prime Directive to rescue him, should have reduced the odds of achieving that rescue to less than zero point two four percent.

The captain had been inordinately pleased to learn he beat those odds.   

But it left Spock in a quandary.  He had no plans in place for the situation in which he now found himself.  And logic … it seemed logic could no longer help with decisions the way it had done before.  This shift in reality meant that logic needed time to recalibrate itself.

Doctor McCoy noticed the difference.  Firstly, the “green blooded hobgoblin” who normally delayed or made excuses to avoid compliance with Starfleet medical regulations did what he was told after he was beamed up from the volcano. He put himself in the Quarantine cell adjoining Transporter Room One immediately.  Secondly, the aforementioned hobgoblin cooperated fully with the doctor’s examination procedures.  Thirdly, Spock did not engage in what the Chief Medical Officer referred to as “back talk” -- debating the accuracy, relevance or rationality of any comments the doctor made.  And McCoy made many such comments, during and after the examination.

Fourthly, when offered the option to remain in the Quarantine cell for rest, Spock accepted.  His only regret was that he did not have a medical condition which required extended isolation.  He would need to find another place to hide.

***

Whoa …!

Jim put himself into reverse gear, took rapid steps back to his bedroom.

Jeez, Spock had nearly seen him in nothing but his briefs.

Wait a second.  Spock, still here, in his quarters.  Still here?

That couldn’t be right.

Carefully, Jim extended his head out the bedroom door, just enough so he could see the sofa in his lounge.

Yup, that was definitely Spock.  PADD on his lap, but his eyes were closed.

Was that what he looked like asleep?

Kinda cute.  His mouth especially – a logical person should not possess a pair of perfect, soft Cupid lips that puckered and almost parted when they --,

Kirk, would you listen to yourself?

Damn those mind melds.

Jim put on a set of Starfleet issue pajamas he never normally wore, and topped that with his dressing gown before he ventured out of the bedroom a second time.

“Spock?”

His First Officer’s eyes snapped open.  They scanned their surroundings before stopping in one position, and seemed to await further instruction.  The body corrected its deviation from the usual straight backed posture Spock assumed in any chair, no matter how comfortable.  And finally his head moved, searching for the owner of the voice that spoke his name.

“Captain.”

“Jim,” Kirk corrected him, “we’re both off duty.”

“Jim, Spock complied, “I apologise.  I did not --,”

“It’s fine, Spock, it’s fine.  We were working late, you were working even later and you fell asleep on my sofa.  That’s not a crime.”

“I will return to my quarters --,”

“What? Wait, why the hurry?” Jim asked.  “I’m the only person you could upset, and I’m not upset.  Besides, you wouldn’t want the crew to see you in the corridors wearing a wrinkled uniform, unshaven --,”

Ignore the fact that Spock looked better on waking that some crew members did when they reported for duty.  Those Cupid lips were all pinched with concern, my god --,

“You can clean up here.  Have breakfast with me,” Kirk suggested.

He fully expected to be refused.

Instead, Spock rose from the sofa and replied, “I can see the logic in your offer.” 

Hopefully, Jim thought, that didn’t include seeing every logical possibility that had passed through Jim's mind and motivated him to extend the invitation.  Ambassador Spock had urged them to build a friendship, after all.  And it seemed as though they were beginning to see eye to eye, regarding subjects they probably would have disagreed about previously.  When McCoy released the Commander from quarantine, Kirk was the first person he wanted to see.  Now this turn of events proved that Spock was becoming more relaxed in his company.  Logically, Jim was interested to know exactly how relaxed.

He replicated coffee while Spock used his shower.  Wanting to impress, he checked out the selection of Vulcan dishes.  There must be something he could stomach …,

 _Balkra –_ that was Spock’s choice for most of the meals they had together.  It looked like yellow mashed potato thinned with too much liquid and poured over a layer of wilted leaves.  He ate it with biscuits – _kreyla._ They looked edible enough, but maybe it wasn’t authentic to have one without the other.

He should probably ask for a recommendation.

“Spock?”

He entered his bedroom at the same moment the hygiene station door opened and Spock emerged, barefoot and wearing a towel sarong.

***

Spock preferred to work with hard sciences, where facts were easier to verify.

Yet he believed he understood enough of Kirk’s emotional architecture, from the time their minds linked, to attempt a psychological experiment.  Jim yearned for the father-son relationship denied him by Nero.  That desire compelled him to seek attention from older men whose ability or status he admired.  Admiral Pike had earned this paternal role, as had Ambassador Spock.

It had been surprising to learn that the Ambassador, in his own timeline, found enough compatibility between himself and James Kirk to develop a psi bond.  

But it was not difficult to imagine that the present Jim Kirk might hope to duplicate the Ambassador’s experience, and grow closer to his new First Officer.  Presently that First Officer was undecided.  Spock acknowledged a natural intuitive ability and courage in his captain which might be the foundation for greatness.  Whether they could ever have become more than working colleagues ….

It was idle speculation now.  While Kirk slept, Spock wrote and submitted a mission report to the Admiralty and the Ambassador, along with his video confessions.  His Starfleet days were numbered. 

All that concerned him was how to maintain the reputations of the Enterprise crew -- Nyota’s in particular -- for the one hundred and twenty hours it would take them to return to Earth.  Since he had already exploited Jim's inclination to intervene on Nibiru, it would strengthen the defence case for Kirk if Spock went further.  His experiment was designed to encourage inclinations his captain might be less willing to express overtly.

And it seemed he was getting positive results.

Kirk was unsettled by the sight of a nearly naked Vulcan.  Spock compounded the tension by stepping past the captain in the constricted space of his bedroom doorway, claiming that he needed to replicate a clean uniform.

Jim was silent for the duration of the replicator’s routine.  Spock had always been fascinated by that peculiar human ability to perceive, without checking, that they were being watched.  It seemed he had suddenly acquired it.

He unfastened the towel round his waist and let it drop, dressed himself on the spot.

“Captain,” he said, once fully clothed, “I apologise.  I interrupted your breakfast preparation.  What did you wish to eat?”

Jim’s attempts to seek his advice regarding Vulcan cuisine faltered, more than once.  He could not look his First Officer in the eye. 

On that basis, Spock considered his experiment successful enough to continue.  He produced _balkra_ and _kreyla_ for both of them, admired Kirk’s pretence of enjoyment and promised to try a Terran dish of Jim’s choosing the next time they met for breakfast. 

Kirk made a joke about arranging another accidental ‘sleepover’.

Spock did not laugh, of course.   But that, ironically, was the better response.

“Or,” Jim said, “not so accidental.  I mean, if you work best late at night …,”

***

“Ready?” Hikaru asked.

“Damn right I am,” Nyota replied.

Sulu glanced over his shoulder to look at her.  Maybe he couldn’t find words to match the expression of incredulity on his face, because he said nothing more.  He walked to the side of the exercise floor where they left their kit bags, and started to pull out his protective padding.  Twenty minutes of warm up stretches and calisthenics had them both breathing hard.  Nyota knew the muscles in her jaw were taut and her eyes open wide.

She had never wanted a fight so badly.

“Okay,” he said, as he stepped into his truss.  “Evasive moves first.”

Nyota bounced on the balls of her feet, sashayed back and forth across the mat.  Head up, she told herself, keep your head up.  Observe your opponent, assess his intent.

Because she’d learned from experience – some people could turn against you that quickly.  The morning Spock came back from his second visit to Nibiru, she thought nothing of it when he ate breakfast in the captain’s quarters instead of meeting her.  Kirk called an emergency briefing with the bridge crew immediately after, so everyone knew the gravity of the situation. 

And it made complete sense when all their shift patterns altered.  They needed a synchronised, twelve hour period to prepare for the neutralisation of the volcano.  Spock closeted himself in the lab with Lieutenant Dempsey and tested the components in the cold fusion device, rigged a backup detonator.  Meanwhile Nyota did drill laps in the swim simulator, and asked Samax Tol Tau Sigg to stand in for the Commander, because they were the same height, so she could practice fitting up the heatproof suit.

But a gut feeling troubled her later, on board the shuttle, doing the real thing.  There was something about Spock’s expression when she told him, “See you in ninety seconds.”

And her own fear answered her back --  _B_ _etter to forget him in that time._

The last thing Hikaru had in his kit bag was a helmet.  Once that was on, he turned to face her.

“Right, we’ll test your push kicks,” he said.  “I’m gonna keep coming at you and you manage the fight space.”

Then he lunged.  Nyota sprang away and to her right.  Her arms were raised and extended out to defend her head and chest.  She danced sideways and kept on dancing, to maintain a distance Hikaru could not close enough to use his fists or feet.  

And when the angle was right, she took her weight on one leg and lashed out with the other, trying to catch Sulu in the knee or hip or groin.

Good fighters had quick reactions; that was why she asked Hikaru for a combat session.  He knew her well – could anticipate what she might do and evade her.  Not as skilfully as Spock, but then ….

Well, when it came to evasion, what could top trying to kill himself?

But no, that wasn’t how she interpreted his decision to refuse rescue, not at first.  Anger may have been displayed (when she tore off her earpiece, it scratched her scalp hard enough to draw blood), but pain was what Nyota felt. 

Real anger came later.  Over three days it built, as evidence accumulated and there was no other explanation for what had changed unless she concluded that the First Officer of the Enterprise was deliberately avoiding her.  After mandatory quarantine, Spock met with the captain in his quarters again – and stayed for twenty-six hours.  Messages she sent to his PADD number went unanswered.

Then his shift pattern altered again.  Nyota asked the computer to double and triple check – it could not identify a single minute they would have together, working or not, before the ship returned to Earth.  Lieutenant Dempsey and Major Nandasiri sat at the Science station on the bridge.

And how could she not be angry when she marched to his quarters and found that security protocols no longer gave her access?

Though even if they had, she would not have found him there.

“Okay,” Hikaru stopped chasing her.  He shook down his arms and blew out hard breaths.  Nyota didn’t relax. 

“Double leg takedowns next,” he said.  “You'll face me with an arm’s length between us.  Keep your head defended.  You anticipate my punch and drop below the strike.  Ready?” 

Too ready.  As soon as she recognised the moment Sulu’s body would be off balance with the follow through from his hitting arm, she felt captive rage explode inside her.  She drove forward and down.  There was no sensation of impact with Hikaru’s legs; they could have been cut from paper.  And then she hoisted him in the air.  Since his body seemed to have no weight, she couldn’t tell how long his right ankle remained in her grasp, how it turned, or how he fell behind her.

“Sorry, sorry, sorry --,”

She said it while she heard him cry out.

“You wanna tell me how it happened?” McCoy asked later, as he ran his tricorder over Sulu’s fracture.

Nyota knew she would rather let Sulu break her right arm and make things even.  She had been trying so hard not to revisit that blackest memory, not to react.  But how? When her fifth message had gone unanswered, when Spock blocked her number so she could not send more or track his movements, and when meditation was no longer helping her stay calm, she knew there was only one person on the Enterprise with the authority to make the Commander explain himself.

She figured she should catch the captain early in his shift, before he reached the bridge.  There was a spot on B deck corridor, near the senior officers’ private dining room, where she could take cover behind a Betazoid ubrelat art installation and be ready to advance when Kirk exited his quarters.

But it was Spock who left that apartment first.  The sight of him gave Nyota a sharp, painful yearning that would have forced a sound out of her, except she had the sense to bite her own hand.  He seemed … she could not tell how he seemed.  He did not go far from the entrance before he turned to look back expectantly.

Then Kirk came out.  His voice carried and preceded his body -- he was telling a story.

“And so,” he said, “it was like Christmas Day all over again, except this time my mother succeeded in getting both of us dumped.”

Jim was carrying a small Starfleet bag which he held out.

“Not like you to forget your stuff, Spock” he remarked.

Stuff?  What stuff?

“Then it seems this morning’s anecdote has distracted me,” Spock replied.

 _This morning’s anecdote._ Implying other mornings, like this one, when Spock emerged from the captain’s quarters with an overnight bag.

“The unfortunate experience you have described,” Spock continued, “Is it the reason you have never sought another romantic partner of the same sex?”

“Wha – no, no…,” Jim countered.

Nyota watched as the two of them stood there, face to face.  Spock remained unreadable, but Jim had pursed his lips and his throat was blushing.

“I uh…,” Kirk grabbed the hair at the back of his head and Uhura saw him pull out a strand by the roots.

“No, Spock, it’s more that, you know, I haven’t met someone since then who uh, who …,”

While Jim sputtered, searching for the right words, Spock’s hand reached forward to grasp the handle of the bag.  There wasn’t space to do that without touching. 


	12. New Vulcan

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Vulcan terms used in this chapter  
> Sha’ti – literally, a niche or cubbyhole. I imagined that the first dwellings constructed on New Vulcan would have been small and functional, and acquired this name to distinguish them from the larger homes that would be built later to accommodate growing families.  
> Shif kre’nath – combining the words for ‘bastard’ and ‘pair’.  
> Shi’yuk -- bedroom

“You cannot be his bondmate.”

The Vulcan girl attending the market stall looked Christine Chapel up and down, and spoke in that slightly patronising tone, as if the doctor were too stupid to comprehend.

Christine waved Ambassador Spock’s ration coupons in the child’s face and replied, “I believe we are negotiating an exchange for food, not a marriage agreement.”

“Only the named coupon holder may present these, or their immediate family.”

“If you check this particular holder’s _record_ ,” Chapel stressed, “you will find he has a medical exemption.”

And she presented her Starfleet identification on her PADD.  The girl glanced at the screen, then at Christine, then back at the screen.  The doctor bit her tongue, because none of the words she wanted to say would take that look off the young Vulcan’s face.  So she just placed her basket on the table and opened the lid.

Eventually it was filled with produce -- the first crops harvested on New Vulcan.

Christine took them back to the _sha’ti_.  She released her tongue from captivity once she got inside, and found the Ambassador had moved himself from his bed to his chair in the kitchen.  That didn’t qualify as full recovery, but she was pleased to notice he had shaved, combed his hair and wore a cloak over his robes.

“How long have I lived on this colony?” she asked, setting her basket on the table.

“According to the recently legislated calendar, one month and eleven days,” Spock replied.

“Have you eaten?”

“I have consumed a cup of tea.”

“I’ll make you something fresh – look at these plomeek roots.”  She took one from the basket to show him.  “What I’m trying to say is that New Vulcan is like a small town.  Everyone must know your situation by now.  Yet I still get asked to prove my identity, as if they’d never laid eyes on me, as if I came all this way to steal a few vegetables.”

The Ambassador picked up the plomeek from the table and smelled it.

“I’ll need your mother’s recipe,” she reminded him.

“I will transfer it to your PADD.”

Christine poured some of their filtered water into a pot.  She ignited the brazier and put a cutting board and knife on the counter nearby.  Her PADD was easiest to read when propped against the wall behind that. 

Spock sent her two files – one was text and the other an image.  Assuming the second would be a photograph of the finished dish, she opened it first.

“Oh,” she said.

It was a portrait of Sarek, Amanda Grayson and their son, from the Ambassador’s timeline.   Spock appeared to be the same age as the girl in the market.

“When was this taken?” she asked.

“The photograph dates from 2238 and was projected in the great hall of Shi’Kahr alongside portraits of Vulcan’s previous diplomats.  But unlike the other family pictures, the caption on ours never included my mother’s name.”

Christine shook her head disagreeably.  She was about to ask how he had tolerated such rudeness, but she could see through the shutter slats that someone was approaching their doorway.

***

“Councillor Hunith,” Spock spoke Standard to greet the woman who entered his _sha’ti_.

“ _Ambassador Spock,_ ” Hunith replied in Vulcan.

He noted Doctor Chapel’s sidelong glance as she opened the recipe file on her PADD.  She was waiting for her presence to be acknowledged.

But the Councillor did not check whether there was anyone else in the room.

She said, “ _We have received notification from the government on Azati Prime that Sarek is dead_.”

The doctor approached the table, where Hunith could not fail to notice her, and selected the vegetables she needed for soup.

What he had neglected to discuss with Chapel was how she should react to this announcement of Sarek’s death, which they had been expecting to hear for some time.  Would Councillor Hunith look for some show of emotion, and become suspicious if the Terran female who attended him seemed untroubled?

But the Councillor was choosing to act as if the doctor did not exist.

“ _You have seen his body_?” Spock asked Hunith.

“ _No_ ,” the Councillor replied.  “ _Your enquiry suggests you distrust the Xindi report_.”

“ _Perhaps the timing is a coincidence.  Federation negotiations are in progress to redistribute former Vulcan territories between the Xindi and the Andorians_.”

The councillor perceived his line of reasoning, and continued it.  “ _Also, we have expressed our dissatisfaction to the Xindi, because a wanted criminal remains a fugitive on their world.”_

_“Precisely.  Those facts, of themselves, do not prove the Xindi have fabricated this news to improve their prospects at the talks.  But the prudent response would be to seek verification.”_

Hunith nodded.  She failed to restrain a cursory glance in the doctor’s direction, after Chapel picked up the knife and began an energetic chopping of the plomeek.

 _“May I presume our conversation is confidential?”_ the Councillor enquired.

Spock assured her that the doctor’s knowledge of Vulcan was confined to the few terms for familiar objects she had learned since her arrival.

_“Understood.  Then I must also tell you that Sarek’s hiding place was searched, and a curious piece of technology discovered.”_

Doctor Chapel accompanied her preparation with low humming.  Spock recognised the tune.

“I Carry Your Heart With Me,” he said.

Christine stopped humming long enough to smile.  Hunith frowned.

“ _Ambassador?”_

 _“My apologies, Councillor,”_ he said.  “ _Please continue.”_

_“This device has been brought to New Vulcan.”_

Spock returned the doctor’s smile, though she could not see it.  It was strangely satisfying to make the Councillor’s eyes open wider.

 _“Ambassador,”_ Hunith asked, “ _did you hear what I just said?”_

_“When I am troubled with the symptoms of my illness, Councillor, Christine often sings this song.   She has found it soothes me.”_

Hunith’s expression teetered on the brink of scandalised.  The doctor recognised her name, and very likely the Vulcan word for song.  She stopped cutting vegetables.  Spock watched as the Councillor tried to straighten her already straight back, to gain height and to emphasise the gravity of the situation.

_“Ambassador, it is clear to our scientists that this device is an advanced form of communication, containing rare metals you helped New Vulcan manufacture exclusively for the development of our economy.  Do you understand the implication of these findings?”_

_“I do,”_ he replied. 

_“I must be certain, because the High Council will debate and decide today whether to arrest you as an accomplice to Sarek’s crimes, and for withholding information concerning his location.”_

_“You may arrest me now,”_ Spock said, _“if you wish.”_

_“You admit that you are guilty?”_

_“For actions the New Vulcan government consider to be crimes, but I do not.”_

Doctor Chapel resumed her food preparation with less rigor.  The innocent sound of vegetables dropping into cooking water seemed a peculiar background accompaniment to the standoff between himself and the Councillor.

“ _Ambassador, your personal opinions will do little to change your fate.”_

Spock could feel another headache building behind his eyes.  The doctor might need to save his soup for later.

“ _Come to your point, Councillor.”_

_“If you are arrested, a priestess will be asked to perform a meld and extract the truth from you, concerning the whereabouts of the half-human infant.”_

_“A waste of time.  I do not know where the child is.”_

_“Then the meld may obtain the names of others, who will know.”_

_“Perhaps,”_ Spock allowed.  Then he changed to Standard, because the idiom that came to mind would not translate.  “But will that be worth your while?”

Hunith’s response was brittle.  _“Explain.”_

“The device you recovered is multifunctional.  It can also serve as a medical tricorder, navigational aide and video diary.  It has been programmed with a subroutine, set in motion from the time Sarek used it to send a distress call.  Between then and now, it has noted the genetic profile of every individual who handled it, mapped its own journey through space and accumulated one hundred and eighteen hours of footage -- capturing any activity or conversation occurring within the range of its cameras and microphone.”

The water in the soup pot was simmering, the low frequency vibration of the molecules being apt accompaniment for the rising tension in the kitchen.  Councillor Hunith’s eyes were locked on his.

“Furthermore, all this information was transferred to me.  It is sufficient to demonstrate that the unsuccessful attempt to eliminate S’chn T’gai Sarek involved members of your Council in collusion with certain Xindi ministers.  The data currently resides on several Starfleet databases, and I could release it now to the Federation team who will oversee New Vulcan’s negotiations with Andoria.”

“You would disadvantage your own kind,” Hunith said, “the vulnerable survivors of tragedy?”

“Councillor,” Spock replied, “I could use those same words to describe the half-human child.”

When she had no ready response, he added, “Go back to your chambers and urge the Council to reconsider.”

With nothing to do but wait for the soup to come to a boil, Doctor Chapel had folded her arms and watched proceedings.

 _“Shif kre’nath,”_ the Councillor muttered at last.  And then she turned and walked out.

“Did she just insult you?” the doctor wanted to know.

Spock closed his eyes and felt the drumbeat of pain across his forehead.

“I have become so accustomed to insults,” he said, “they mean little.”

Chapel did not answer.  She began to hum again, and then to softly sing, “I Carry Your Heart with Me”.  Spock remembered Jim Kirk, his Jim, who had loved the same song so much but sang it very badly.

***

Christine gave the Ambassador a pain killer, and he managed to eat a little soup.  Then she urged him to return to bed.  Little persuasion was actually required, but she moved one of the kitchen chairs so she could keep watch on the door that closed off his _shi’yuk._ He had been known to sneak out when her back was turned, cross over to the study and work when he ought to be resting.

But maybe not this time.  After forty minutes she stood up and cleared their dishes, stored the remaining vegetables in the cellar.

Then she tied a scarf round her head and went outside to check the plot of ground they had been assigned to cultivate.  It wasn’t much to boast about yet -- three tomato plants growing from seed, a few rows of spinach and okra, and several flourishing chia sage. 

V’lunnos, their next door neighbour, tended her garden also.  Spock had conversed with her enough to learn that she was six years his senior, an engraver and jeweller by profession, and had lost three generations of family in the Destruction.  Having sold her wares to interplanetary buyers, her Standard was fluent.  But today, as before, Christine received a nod from V’lunnos before the elderly Vulcan returned to her dwelling.

Ah well, Christine thought, drying her face with her scarf.  Tears are one way I can water these plants.

But in the messages to her niece Melanie, she didn’t make excuses.  _There is too much sadness here and too little crying,_  she wrote.As a result, the tension was finding its expression in other, less healthy ways – the minutae of legislation, the resentment (no use calling it anything else) and rejection of outsiders who had not suffered and did not understand, nor could be permitted to alter any aspect of the colony’s future, the colony’s bloodline.  Anything not purely Vulcan was treated as a threat.

She found one bedroom door ajar when she went back inside.  The Ambassador, true to form, was in the study.  Christine folded her arms, came up behind his workstation and was about to launch into a doctor’s reprimand.

Then she saw Commander Spock’s face appear on the display.  The Ambassador played the short video, the public and private segments, and all other files which had transmitted in a single packet from the USS Enterprise.

She must have breathed during that time.  But the air rushed out of her once the display went black.

After a long silence, the Ambassador said, “I must contact Admiral Pike.”

“You must,” Christine agreed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “I Carry Your Heart With Me” is not a song, as far as I am aware.  
> I took it from the title of a poem by e.e. cummings – “[i carry your heart with me(i carry it in]” – and maybe I’m hoping that, sometime before the mid 23rd century, it will be turned into a hit single. If you would like to read the poem, go to this link: https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poetrymagazine/poems/49493/i-carry-your-heart-with-mei-carry-it-in


	13. Shi'Kar'ee

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vulcan terms used in this chapter:  
> Rau-nolsu – refugee(s). This is an invention. My usual source for Vulcan vocabulary, https://www.starbase-10.de/vld/ had the word ‘rau-nol’ for ‘refuge’ or ‘shelter’ but no term for ‘refugee’. I had noticed that the suffix ‘su’ was found in words that implied being the receiver of something (i.e. ‘hasausu’ for patient or one who receives medical care). And so I took linguistic liberty.  
> Ko’mehk-il – grandmother  
> Posurak – ‘after Surak’. Another invention, a term that is specific to clan Menosa. It is how they refer to Vulcans who have not rebelled.  
> Shi’kar’ee – ‘hunter’. This is the name of T’Raan’s space cruiser

“Matriarch,” T’Raan was hailed over the cruiser’s communications system, “the _rau-nolsu_ are on board.”

“Where have you put them, Kolkan?” she asked her great grandson.

“In the strong room.”

T’Raan found the notion amusing.

“I take it,” she said, “that you want them to see how much the Xindi government paid us to make them disappear?”

“ _Ko’mehk-il,”_ he improvised upon her idea, “how negligent of me.  I should have labelled those bars of latinum, so they could be identified from all the others.”

T’Raan smiled.  He possessed an excellent wit.

“I will go there directly,” she said.

But before she left, she noted that Kolkan had activated no lights inside the strong room.  She believed this was wise.  They could not accept what attaché Narjan had told them without question.  In all matters related to the _Posurak_ , even when dealing with those who claimed to have no issue with her people, it was always logical to be cautious.  Darkness would intimidate their newcomers, remind them who was in charge.

On her way to meet their new arrivals, T’Raan detoured to the equipment stores and helped herself to a charged phaser.

Yet, while she was several meters distant from the force field that secured their storage areas, the baby’s cries were distinct and loud.  This child was greatly distressed.  It convinced the matriarch, more than Narjan’s assurances had, that the mother must be Terran.  A Vulcan would have been capable of calming her child telepathically.

T’Raan reached the strong room control panel and restored illumination to fifteen percent.  It made the mother visible.  She was huddled on the floor with stacks of latinum bars at her back.  The infant lay in the cradle made by her arms and its tiny face was contorted, preparing for the next prolonged noise.  The matriarch noted the little one’s pointed ears.

Among her own descendants, there was debate about whether to continue with their tradition of surgical alteration, now that Vulcan numbers were depleted.  But no one had worked up the courage to speak with her about it yet.

T’Raan wondered if their guests might become catalysts for that discussion.

She increased the lighting to forty-five percent, and opened a communication channel.

“ _Welcome to the_ _Shi’kar’ree_ ,” she said.

The baby drowned out most of those words.  But the mother caught sight of T’Raan through the force field.  They stared at each other for ninety-seven seconds.  The matriarch began to wonder whether the Terran female could speak.  She made another attempt at greeting, this time in Standard.

“I am T’Raan.  May I ask your names?”

“Chibuzo,” came the reply.  “My daughter is Kandibe/T’Praa.”

Kandibe/T’Praa let out a scream, and mother Chibuzo looked down at her helplessly.

When the baby stopped for breath, T’Raan quickly said, “I believe I may be able to --,”

Kandibe shrieked again.  The matriarch of _Shi’kar’ree_ took a chance, lowered the force field and stepped inside the strong room.

***

Chibuzo eyed the phaser warily.  She felt like unwanted cargo that had been shunted from one location to another.  The Xindi Aquatic escape pod had been pre-programmed to travel to the deepest part of the Jarran Sea.  Then it rose to the surface, where it was hoisted into the hold of a waiting barge and the barge towed into the half submerged loading bay of a space freighter.

She did not know how far the freighter had taken her from the planet, or where she was when they beamed her onto this vessel.

She did not know what to make of the woman with wavy, salt and pepper hair who now approached.  The young man who locked Chibuzo behind the force field had the same peaked ridge that ran vertically between his eyebrows, wore the same drab combat trousers and boots.  This woman T’Raan had draped a blood red mantle over her uniform jacket, fastened it at the shoulder with a broach.  The engraving reminded Chibuzo of Vulcan family sigils.

T’Raan came close, shifted her phaser behind her back and lowered one knee to the floor.  She watched Kandibe – more fitting to use her human name because she thrashed and wailed and like her mother was probably tired of finding herself in strange places.

“Chibuzo,” T’Raan addressed her, “will you allow me?”

The woman reached out with her free hand and let her fingertips hover over Kandibe’s wet face. 

“What will you do?” Chibuzo asked.

“Meld with her.”

***

From the look she received, T’Raan concluded that the Terran femalehad not been told anything about them.

“The Vulcan who fathered your child,” she asked over the baby’s protestations.  “Did he work for the High Council or the Ministry of Security?”

The human shook her head.

“Good,” T’Raan said.  “It is not often we get to tell our side of the story first.  In the middle of the last century, the Ministry despatched one hundred and nine special operatives to the planet Agaron.  Their job was to infiltrate and destroy criminal groups whose influence corrupted the Agaron government, and they were surgically altered --,”

She ran her index finger over the top of one earlobe and along her brow ridge.

“—to disguise their true identity.  The mission was successful, and most of the operatives returned.”

She waited for Chibuzo to ask the obvious question, about what those operatives had to do with where she was now and more importantly, who she was facing.  But the human was unusually quiet, perhaps to compensate for her offspring.

What Chibuzo did do, more surprisingly, was hold out her little girl like an invitation.

T’Raan was moved.  It wasn’t her experience to gain anyone’s trust so quickly.  She placed her fingers against the baby’s meld points, closed her eyes and projected the calm that had soothed all her children and grandchildren and great grandchildren. This little one desired food and greater warmth.  She was assured of both, and soon.

***

Chibuzo felt Kandibe relax, and her crying subdued to sniffles and murmurs.  When T’Raan finished the meld she set her phaser on the floor, unpinned her red mantle and removed it.

“Wrap her in this,” she said, “and follow me.”

They left the room, went up to the next level of this unknown craft, where their footsteps no longer echoed off the corridor walls because the panels were covered with heavy tapestries.  And the ceiling seemed higher, lighter.  They passed a door ajar and Chibuzo heard children’s voices coming from within.

T’Raan carried on, selecting the next doorway.  It opened onto a room with a recess at the centre, like a learning bowl.  Two babies crawled on the quilted surface in the basin, watched over by a man who, when he looked up, focussed his gaze on Kandibe/T’Praa before anyone else and his expression opened.  

“Maral,” T’Raan put a hand on his shoulder as he approached.  “You have been nagging the bonded ones for additions to your crèche.”

“How old?” Maral asked Chibuzo.

“Would introductions, perhaps, be more polite?” T’Raan asked, but with a wry smile.

“Five months,” Chibuzo replied.

“And hungry,” T’Raan added.

“We can remedy that,” he said.  “Wait there.”

As he left the room through another exit, Chibuzo studied the babies in the bowl.  Unlike the adults she had encountered so far, these infants had pointed ears and no visible facial ridge.

“Whose children are these?” she asked her host.

“They are Kolkan’s twins,” T’Raan replied.  “You met him when you came aboard.”

“Is their mother Vulcan?”

“Chibuzo,” the other woman shook her head, “I see that we need to finish the story I began to tell you in the strong room, about the Ministry’s operatives.  The few who did not return to Vulcan became criminals themselves.  My grandfather Menos, for example, smuggled biotoxins.  The Ministry of Security tried but never succeeded in capturing him.”

Maral returned, carrying a bottle.  He held it high so that Kandibe/T’Praa could see and she reached out.

“ _Thas!”_

“Good,” Maral said, “very good.  Do you think she would …?”

He held out his arms to finish the question.  Chibuzo regarded his pale eyes and thin, sandy hair.  T’Praa had never seen a face like his, but if it were possible, taking the weight off her own arms would be welcome.

“Thank you,” she said.  And she couldn’t help but relax her shoulders when Maral caught the baby expertly and took her with him to the bowl.  He sat on the rim with his legs extended into the basin.  T’Raan suggested they imitate him.

The twins seemed energised by their proximity.  They used the adults they knew as mobility aids, called out ‘grandmother’ and ‘grandfather’, stared unabashedly at Chibuzo but did not feel ready to address the stranger.

“So,” T’Raan went on, “this is what the Xindi attache has done for you.  He has left you in the care of clan Menosa, the unspeakables, the Vulcan outlaws.  We alter our appearance in honour of our rebellious ancestor.”

“You are all descended from Menos?”

“Some of us,” Maral interjected, “are acquisitions.”

“Umm…, I think gift is the better word,” T’Raan replied softly.  “What I paid for you was considerably less than what you proved to be worth, _ashayam._ ”

Chibuzo pretended not to notice the look that passed between them.

***

T’Raan considered all the generations living on board, and their individual stories.

“Some Vulcans,” she said to Chibuzo, “joined us because we take a more … accommodating view of emotion.  Yet not so relaxed as Terrans, I think.”

That being said, their human guest seemed most subdued and self-contained.  The matriarch could almost understand why a Vulcan might choose her.  Almost.

“We had heard that the High Council banned Vulcans from producing offspring with non-Vulcans.  But until Narjan contacted us, and told us what happened to you, we did not quite believe.”

This remark did not provoke any comment either.

“Is there anything you need?” Maral asked the Terran female.

Chibuzo was watching Kandibe/T’Praa feed.  The baby was perfectly quiet, and the contents of her bottle draining rapidly.  Her mother, by contrast, seemed fatigued.  This might be a lack of nourishment or rest, T’Raan thought, or simply the fact that, unlike the others on board _Shi’kar’ree_ , she had never been prepared for a fugitive’s life.

***

“Can you tell me if the--,”

Chibuzo paused.  She had always referred to him by one title or another, and never spoken his name aloud.

“-- if Sarek is safe?”

Maral set aside T’Praa’s empty bottle, hoisted her into an upright position with her head rested on his shoulder, and gently explored her abdomen with his fingertips the way Sarek used to do, to check for trapped air.

“We understand he suffered injury,” T’Raan said quietly, “but is recovering.”

Maral raised an eyebrow and seemed to stifle a laugh.  As if to explain himself, he added, “Of all people, I would never have imagined the Ambassador as a rebel.”

“Oh come,” T’Raan upbraided him, “the first Vulcan to bond with a human?”

“It did not seem to change him,” her bondmate protested.  “Certainly not his attitude towards us.”

One of the twins worked up the courage to approach Chibuzo, the mysterious newcomer.  The child held up its hand to present a _ta’al._ She returned the gesture.

“Perhaps,” T’Raan suggested, “Sarek will change, now that he will experience life among the outlaws.”

“He will come here?” Chibuzo asked.

“No,” Maral told her.  “We advised Narjan it was better to keep you apart.  This will keep you safer, because it creates greater confusion about your exact location.”

“And if we have managed to outwit the High Council for this long, we can certainly do it now," T'Raan said.

“But then,” Chibuzo knew she failed to keep her voice as even as it ought to be, “where is he?”

***

Consciousness was an ideal, not often reached.  And if reached, Sarek found it difficult to hold on, to be certain of his state of mind before pain or some irritation – his inner eyelid would not fully retract, so that he could not make sense of what little he saw – before that exhausted his limited strength.

At times he perceived, or thought he perceived, another consciousness nearby.  Not his phantom Amanda, or the katra of T’Shin  -- this psi link was someone he knew, someone alive, and someone Vulcan. 

Once, he was certain he managed to say the name, the only name that would come to mind.

“Spock?”

And once, he got a response.

“You are getting closer.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For anyone not familiar with the 'Enterprise' series, Menos was a Vulcan security operative who rebelled and became a smuggler. See http://memory-alpha.wikia.com/wiki/Menos for details.
> 
> Of course, since this is the alternative timeline, I felt it was OK to change his fate and have him go uncaptured.


	14. The Honesty of Emotion

Earth.

Inside crew cabin D13, USS Enterprise, Nyota configured her wall display so she could sit on her bunk and watch the planet get closer.  She had packed ages ago.

Along the east coast of Africa, there was high, thin cloud holding over Somalia, Kenya and Tanzania, clearing in northern Mozambique.  In Dar-es-Salaam it was late afternoon and thirty-one degrees centigrade.  Next week the Tango Festival would begin.  She had been just once, with Manny before they decided to elope.  Then he was at his best -- strong and sexy and bursting with ideas.  An eerie kind of energy powered their dances.

Looking back, she wondered whether that should have been an early warning sign.  Maybe the entity was with him before they married.

Maybe years from now, looking back on her relationship with Spock, she would see exactly where it began to go wrong.

Her door chime sounded and made her jump.

“Computer,” she asked, hand over her startled heart, “who is it?”

“Lieutenant Hikaru Sulu,” the system replied.

“Oh,” she said, pleased and not pleased.  “Enter.”

McCoy had given Hikaru a white canvas sheath that fit overtop the immobiliser sling on his arm.  When her door opened, Nyota could see six whole signatures written on it, including the doctor’s.

Sulu had his suitcase in his good hand.

“One hour, thirteen minutes,” he said, grinning.

She smiled back.  She bet Ben had been up before dawn in Vancouver, to prepare the world’s most amazing breakfast.

And then she sighed.

“Oh god,” she said, “he is never going to speak to me again.”

She didn’t need to explain who or what she meant.  Hikaru bumped his suitcase against her chair as he came inside, let it drop on the floor and said, “My arm is fine.  I’m only wearing this for a bit of, you know…,”

Sulu kept looking at her with this expectation that she could finish his sentence for him.  She shook her head.

“C’mon Nyota, you know how it is.  First kiss in two months will taste even better with added sympathy.  And then he gets to … remove it.”

His eyes shone.  That was too much.  Nyota looked away.

“Hey,” he said, “the offer still stands.  Just give us a day on our own, and you can come stay at the houseboat.”

“No.”

“…or maybe give us two days.”

“No!  Hikaru, go home and be married.  We don’t know how much shore leave we’ll get -- you can’t afford to sacrifice Ben’s happiness or yours.”

“Okay,” he said, “but I need to know you’ll be all right.”

“What, you think I will start attacking random people as soon as I’m on the ground?  You’re seeing the news headline -- ‘Jilted San Francisco Lover in Bone-Breaking Rampage’?”

Sulu laughed, and then suddenly his expression fell flat.

“I’m hoping you and Spock will find a way to talk it through,” he said.

“Umm … me too.”

Nyota said it, then shut her lips tight.

Two hours later she was back in California, at Starfleet Academy, standing in Argelius Square.  New cadets swarmed around her, getting to their classes.  Leaves on the trees were edged with autumn colour.  The xenocultural buildings were directly on her left, the Computer Science block about a hundred meters straight ahead. 

Spock’s office had been on the third floor, that first window off the southeast corner.  She remembered the Wednesday evening in October when Sulu was supposed to meet her in the labs and help her with her Navigation homework, and what happened instead.  That seemed longer ago than it should do.  It seemed like it might have been a dream.

Nyota put her hand up to the side of her head and touched one of the Manju George earrings.

No, not a dream.  She didn’t just imagine that Spock had loved her.  That was reality.

The unreal part was now and this, this nothingness.  She didn’t know what to do with it.  And she didn’t know where to go.

To return to Dar-es-Salaam would be the worst choice.  How would she explain to Zuri, to Levina Migiru, to her grandmother and cousins who all met Spock and adored him, alternately teased and nagged about when they would acquire smaller versions of him as relatives by marriage while showing off their fluency in Vulcan as if vying for which one would make the best babysitter.

In San Francisco, her registered address was now Spock’s Messier Cluster apartment.  She could go there, but there was no doubt he would monitor its state of occupation and never appear.  She would have the company of his African violets, the cherry tree, the knothole in the back fence …

“Ow!”

Nyota literally jumped.  Cadets gave her curious looks as her suitcase tipped over and she clamped both her hands over freshly pinched buttocks to protect them from any further abuse.  Then she turned around to identify the culprit.

There was a second of mental disconnect, because the body she suddenly faced had green skin and wore a red uniform, the one with the turtleneck collar, the last one she saw Gaila wearing.  Then after a beat, when Nyota thought her heart had stopped, her eyes registered the differences – darker, bobbed hair and a pair of soulful grey eyes.

“Zsa Zsa?”

The Orion saluted her.

“Lieutenant Uhura, it would be better if you called me Cadet Divi Jadillu.”

“You’ve enrolled?”

“Yeah, Gaila used to dare me – if she graduated, then I had to apply.”

“And she would have done,” Uhura said.

“I didn’t know you’d be back on campus,” Divi enthused.  “Where’s Commander Spock?”

“Uh…,”

“Will he teach Computer Science again?  I hope he doesn’t mind – I’m a bit more engineering.”

“Divi --,”

“I was always the one who looked after the hovercar, when we had it.  Thilulla will need a new mechanic.  She’s trying to find the human who used to repair the Nirvana bus, when it belonged to the Buddhist temple--,”

“Thilulla is here?” Nyota asked, “in San Francisco?”

Divi nodded.  “She’s going to pick me up after my last class.”

Nyota grabbed the cadet by her red shoulder pads.

“I need to see her.”

***

“Admiral …?”

Chris heard Ensign Ganzorig calling him, trying to figure out just how far he had wandered from his office.  But he had just the right vantage point, from this window, and he didn’t want to lose sight of them.

“Admiral Pike – ah, there you are.  Your scheduled subspace call with New Vulcan --,”

“Patch it through,” Chris said.

He continued to watch, as below him the Captain and First Officer of the USS Enterprise (they still had a few minutes to hold on to those titles) made their way across the plaza towards High Command headquarters.

Could Kirk not see what a goddamn fool he looked like?

“Admiral Pike …,”

The gravelled voice of Ambassador Spock came through the meeting room’s comm system.

“Ambassador,” Chris responded, “thank you for letting me have more of your time.”

“Thanks are unnecessary,” Spock responded.  “I would have requested this meeting if you had not suggested it during our previous call.  Have Captain Kirk and Commander Spock arrived in San Francisco?”

“They have,” Pike sighed.  “Pity I can’t give you visuals from here.  You’d see it – anyone could see it.  The Commander is walking like he’s got a two by four stuck down the back of his pants, excuse the visual image, while Jim is bouncing up and down in front of him like a lovesick puppy –- oh --,”

“Oh?”

“Well, maybe he’s not completely smitten,” Chris said.  “He just paused to flirt with three female members of the Diplomatic Core.”

“There is hope, in that case.”

“God knows they both need it.  You will have full access to the surveillance systems in my office, Ambassador, if you want to keep this channel open and watch the sparks fly.”

***

As Spock walked out of Admiral Pike’s office, he was intercepted by Ensign Ganzorig.

“Commander,” the ensign extended one arm to indicate a location somewhere further along the corridor.  “Would you have a few minutes to step into the meeting room?  There is someone else who wishes to speak with you.”

Ganzorig would not say who it was, and Spock did not insist on knowing.  If anything, he expected to be arrested – the meeting with Pike had centred on Jim Kirk’s actions.

He believed he should have been allowed to remain in that office, and have Pike lecture him.  He had attempted to redirect the Admiral’s anger without avail.  This was all because of a gap in his planning, which he deeply regretted.  As First Officer, he ought to have checked the captain’s logs, as a precaution.  He could have corrupted the file, destroyed it – either way, it would have protected Kirk and ensured that only one person could be accused of acting incorrectly.

“In here, sir,” Ganzorig said, and held the meeting room door open.

When Spock stepped inside, he found no one else there.

The lights were off, blinds drawn, and the meeting room chairs perfectly arranged around the table.  Yet he suspected the space had been recently occupied.  The carpet held seven indentations, round, approximately 3.5 centimetres in diameter.  They were spaced at intervals between the door and the window.  And on the window ledge there appeared to be a tile made from Betazed ubrelat.  It displayed two colours – grey where it was shadowed by the blind and vivid red on the part that was warmed by the late morning sun.

“Mr. Spock.”

Spock turned, recognising the voice.  After a moment, he realised the greeting must have been transmitted through the communications unit fitted to the meeting room table.

“Mr. Spock,” he replied.

“I have received your files, and reviewed them thoroughly with Admiral Pike and Starfleet High Command,” the Ambassador said.

Behind his back, Spock tightened the grip on his hat.

“Contrary to your expectations, you will not be stripped of your rank or court martialled.”

Spock took a step closer to the table.

“Surely, Ambassador, my offences are numerous and serious enough --,”

“Loyalty is not an offence, Commander.  Nor is protecting your superior officer and crew, which appears to have been the chief motivation for your actions.”

“I have violated the Prime Directive.”

“Spock, it is a Directive, not a dictat.  A series of simple principles for making what may be very complex decisions.”

“The decision concerning Nibiru seemed quite simple,” he argued with the transmitted voice.

“Could you have lived with the decision not to intervene?” the Ambassador asked.

“Had my plan been successfully carried out, I would not have lived.”

“And it seems to me that this is a problem,” the Ambassador countered.  “You are making purely logical decisions which trap you in your own thinking.”

“We have …,” Spock could not, at this point, express the frustration he felt about their ongoing debate, “… already discussed our differences about the merits of logic.”

“I made a recommendation,” the Ambassador corrected him.  “It was based on my own experience.  I found that logic can be undermined when illogical beings become a significant part of the decision making process.  Logic cannot anticipate or make provision for sudden, irrational actions, such as those your captain is inclined to make.”

Spock could not sigh inaudibly, but left a pause where a sigh would have been.

“With respect,” he said to his elder self, “this art of making decisions outside logic eludes me.”

“It does take time,” the Ambassador agreed.  "Which makes it imperative that you seek the Vulcan injunction to live long, if at all possible.  It was … unsettling … to consider that I might have outlived you.”

At that point, it was the older Spock who sighed.

“It was also unsettling to learn that you have taken advantage of Jim emotionally,” he said.

Was there anger in that voice?

“Ambassador,” Spock replied, “my intention was to protect --,”

“--you may find this difficult to understand, because Kirk has chosen to be deceptive in his log.  But Jim is honest – honest _emotionally_.  If he has invested in a feeling, he does not abandon that investment, is not duplicitous or manipulative, as you _have been_.  What you have done to him, and to Lieutenant Uhura, is a far greater crime than his and unacceptable.  In this matter, I will not take any steps to lessen the consequences of your actions.  And should I learn that you are attempting a similar deception in future, I will _show_ you what protecting James T. Kirk actually _means_.” 

***

Memory of the Ambassador’s warning reverberated.  It was still echoing in Spock’s mind several hours later, when he arrived for the Daystrom emergency session and waited for the lift to take him to the top of the High Command tower.

He braced himself when he saw Kirk approaching.

“Captain.”

“Not any more, Spock.  I’m First Officer.”

Spock was appraised of their new situations as they rode together in the lift.  All things considered, the penalties incurred were lenient.  In his own case, he might even call his transfer to the Bradbury beneficial.  Distance might help him gain some comprehension of the Ambassador’s advice.

But Kirk seemed considerably demoralised.

“Spock, I saved your life.  You wrote a report.  I lost my ship.”

The lift doors opened and they stepped out into the boardroom.  If this was his former captain's line of thinking, Spock failed to understand it.  But he doubted that admitting this was the best course of action.  Perhaps he should take a cue from the Ambassador, and consider any feelings of his own that resonated with Kirk’s statement.

“I see now I should have alerted you to the fact that I submitted the report,” he said.

But his attempt was a mistake.  Kirk’s reply was clear – he had expected his First Officer to have some reciprocal desire to falsely represent what happened during the mission.

“Vulcans cannot lie,” Spock tried to explain.    

“Then I'm talking to the half-human part of you. All right?”

All right? 

Did Jim Kirk think it was so simple?  Vulcan half or human half, as if his First Officer were a coin that could be tossed and land either one way or the other?

And then he recalled the Ambassador’s words, and the clear accusation in them, that he considered his younger self to be duplicitous, two-faced.

“Do you understand why I went back for you?” Kirk was asking.

Before he could reply, Captain Abbott of the USS Bradbury interrupted to introduce himself.  And whereas Spock thought he had weighed up the ramifications of his transfer, the reality he had not considered was that it would end this dialogue, cut off his ability to reach any understanding with this man Pike valued so highly, and the Ambassador so much more so.

Now, if Jim Kirk could see it, he would know what being half Vulcan and half human meant.  All too often, it meant being caught in the middle between two opposing forces – paralysed.  Paralysed and speechless.  He waited, helplessly, for his former Captain to speak.

“The truth is …,” Kirk began.

_Jim is honest—honest emotionally._

“… I’m gonna miss you.” 


	15. That Vulcan Need to Bond

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Non-English terms used in this chapter  
> Ir-kebi – (Vulcan) My invention. In my usual source, https://www.starbase-10.de/vld/, there were no terms for the measurement of long distances, like mile or kilometre. So I combined the words for ‘unit’ and ‘distance’.  
> Tel-tam’a – (Vulcan) the sense of being haunted by a lost bondmate, as per chapter 4 of this story.  
> Ilhusra – (Romulan) according to http://memory-beta.wikia.com/wiki/Romulan_language, this is an expletive. Given the barren nature of Nimbus III, I like the irony that the Federation gave one of the continents the hopeful, aspirational name of New Atlantis, whereas the Romulans considered it worthy of nothing but a curse.

“I had a Vulcan lover once,” Gaila’s sister confided.

Nyota was about to reach for the Cardassian Sunrise Thilulla Jadillu had made for her.  The drink came in a very tall, titanium rimmed flute that looked out of place in the cup holder between driver and passenger seats.  But she thought again, and kept her hands in her lap.  She didn’t want to choke on her first sip.

“You don’t believe me,” Thilulla said, “do you?”

“It, um …,” Nyota cast around her mind for a way to avoid a direct answer.  “I suppose that would explain how you knew just the right amount of chocolate I should, you know …,”

The Orion drummed the steering wheel in satisfaction.  “I did, didn’t I?”

Oh, but that memory of feeding Spock tiny spoonfuls of chocolate mousse was not the best one to be reviving, not now.  Nyota picked up her drink and took a swallow without tasting.

She tried to enjoy the scenery.  Thilulla had driven the Nirvana bus across the Golden Gate Bridge to the Marin Headlands, and parked at one of the lookout points facing the city.  Sun had set over Starfleet Headquarters and Nyota had been pointing out the important buildings: the Forum, Academy Administration, the Vulcan Consulate and the High Command tower.

When asked, Nyota guessed that Spock was likely at the top of that tower.  She had a message on her PADD from Scotty, to say that he would be putting a trace on her, in case he needed to beam her back at short notice.  An emergency meeting of Starfleet senior officers was about to convene.

He’ll be in dress uniform, she thought.  The one he prefers, because the fabric is warmer.

“Oh, shut up,” she said.

“What?” asked Thilulla.

“Sorry,” Nyota apologised, “talking to myself.  You were saying, about this Vulcan --,” 

“He came from a very important family,” Thilulla went on.  “Wouldn’t tell me who, of course, just that his mother belonged to the old royal line of Gol, whatever that is.  And I don’t think Taunn was his _real_ name.”

“You think he lied?”

“Oh Cutie Bootie,” Thilulla now had permission to use Gaila’s nickname, “he did a lot of things.  See, he had decided to be different; he wanted to experience his emotions instead of control them.  But you can imagine, all those years of mental training can’t be undone easily.  That’s why we got together, because he wanted my help.”

“And did you,” Nyota asked, “help?”

The Orion squirmed in her bucket seat and sighed.

“Hmm.  Well, it’s more a question of who helped who …,” she said dreamily.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nyota Uhura,” Gaila’s eldest sister replied, “you are one of the few non-Vulcans who will believe me when I say that beneath those blank faced exteriors, our favourite pointed eared humanoids _love_ sex.”

“Thilulla --,”

“Love it and are galaxy supreme masters of it.”

“Ouch.”

“All their intellect applied to _studying_ the body that gets to share their bed.  And the melding, my gods --,”

“Stop it!”

Nyota flung her arm sideways to slap her driver on the leg, and knocked her drink into the Orion’s lap. 

“Ooh,” Thilulla cried, “is that what you Terrans call a Freudian slip?”

Nyota let out a roar of frustration, opened the passenger door and jumped out.  There was a paved promenade that ran in front of the bus, following the edge of the sea cliff.  She strode along it with her arms folded and eyes watching her feet.  She came to a turn, where a trail had been cleared through the scrub and would take her down to the beach.  She went that way because it was somewhere to go.

But she couldn’t outrun anyone, not over soft sand in semi-darkness.  Thilulla eventually caught up, but remained a couple of steps behind her runaway passenger.

“It didn’t work out,” the Orion said at last.

“Really?” Nyota said archly.  “I’m surprised.”

“Now now.”

They reached the top of some uneven steps made from driftwood.  Nyota paused.  Tricky footing and not enough light for depth perception meant she could either crawl down them or risk a sprained ankle.

“So why did it end?” she asked, surrendering to the conversation as Thilulla drew up beside her.

“He wanted to bond.”

Nyota laughed in a burst of noise that was immediately diluted by the wind.

“Lucky you,” she said bitterly.

“Lucky?  It was a big disappointment,” Thilulla told her, "after all the work he'd done to change.  You know, he tried every substance we had to undermine his control.  Not just chocolate but cinnamon, efola, Vulcan brandy and trillium-D.  But no matter how much he had, no matter what other inhibitions were eliminated, there was one thing that never happened.”

Thillula sidled up closer and bumped her hip against Nyota’s.  Nyota bumped back.

“What, then?”

“Sure you want to hear?” the Orion teased, and thumped her again.

“I wouldn’t have asked if --,”

“It’s just that this mini skirt hasn’t dried out yet.”

Their hip bumping exchange was turning into a dance.

“Shut up,” Nyota bit her lip to keep from smiling.

“Mixed messages,” Thilulla argued.  "Ow!  How can such a tidy little ass do that kind of damage?”

“Stop stalling.”

Gaila’s sister threw her arms around Nyota’s shoulders and whispered in her ear.

“Taunn never wanted anyone except me.”

The sky teemed with lights: stationary stars, street lights and the beacons marking the distinctive girders of the Golden Gate Bridge.  Shuttlecraft lights glided in and out of thin clouds.  Nyota could hear the distant chopping of a helicopter’s blades, but couldn’t see anything.

“I don’t know what I’m supposed to take from that,” she told the Orion.

Thilulla sighed.  “Well, I’m not sure, after everything you’ve told me.  All I can say is that there is something about that Vulcan need to bond.  It’s not about emotion – it goes deeper.  I just don’t believe Commander Spock has suddenly, inexplicably and completely lost interest in you.”

“What other explanation is there?”

Thilulla shook her head.  Nyota could see the helicopter now, passing directly over them, flying south.

“Maybe you need to turn the tables,” Thilulla suggested.  “All this time you’ve been trying to make contact, you’ve been pushing for answers.  When I said no, thank-you to a bond with Taunn, he tried to change my mind …,”

The helicopter descended as it crossed the waters of the Golden Gate.

“Go on,” Nyota said.

“Don’t rush me.  I’m just remembering exactly how he tried.”

“You deserve to have a tanker load of Cardassian Sunrise poured over you.”

“Okay, okay.  So my advice is play like you’ve stopped caring, and see how he --,”

Nyota cried out Thilulla’s name, but maybe the Orion had already seen it.  The helicopter came down, down until its landing skids might have doubled as water skiis.  As it closed in on the opposite shoreline, its trajectory seemed to aim for the High Command tower -- not to land on top of it, but to collide.

And then at the last moment it buoyed up.  Nyota felt something catch in her throat as the machine rose, until the pilot in the cockpit must have had a clear view into the glass walled boardroom on the uppermost floor. 

***

“Father …,”

Saying the word was like having the taste of ripe _kaasa_ in his mouth.  It seemed to erase the years and the distance between himself and home, in spite the fact that home could only be a memory now.

Should he let emotion come through in his voice?  A small part of him, a mere fragment but nevertheless a part he could not free from its need for attachments said no.  The best way to address S’chn T’gai Sarek was a controlled way.  That way would win his trust.

But the greater part of Sybok yearned for the emotional connection he knew they could both have, if his father chose it.  Sarek had talked much in his sleep, delirious murmurs where the only distinct words were endearments – _ashal, ashayam, petakov._ These were not dream conversations with T’Rea, his mother.  She had possessed a formidable mind, had submitted herself to the discipline of kolinhar when she was still a child and maintained the devotion throughout her life.   Her spirit had been the spirit of their household.

Sterile.  Stifling.  Like the desert outside.

Through a gap in the tent curtain he could see that Sarek was awake and curious about his surroundings.

“Father …,”

The former Ambassador, former citizen, former upholder and representative of Vulcan principles throughout the galaxy was not back to full strength.  His head turned carefully on his pillows, searching for the source of the voice. 

Sybok pushed aside the curtain and let himself be seen.

The psi bond normally established between parent and child did not operate between them, disconnected long ago as one of the terms of his banishment from Vulcan.  But as Sybok stepped closer to the bed, all his experimental efforts to achieve a greater range of abilities within the psionic field were rewarded.  He could see the part of his father’s consciousness that Sarek could, in normal circumstances, conceal from others.  The clarity amazed him, to the point that external reality became less distinct, felt more like an illusion.

The wound had not healed.  Or had done so partially, but what had closed over seemed inflamed.  And Sybok could see her, like a ghost – his father’s second bondmate, the human.

The emotions surrounding her glowed like an aura.  His father was in conflict, knowing he must let her go, unable to do so.

And behind the human, at varying distances, stood an army of spirits.  He recognised extended family, a multitude of cousins and the surviving elders of the line of Surak, his grandfather Skon, matriarch T’Pau.  Though his body stood still, Sybok found that his mind could carry on moving and walk among this assembly of remembered bonds.

It may have been a time consuming journey.  The psionic field had no temporal dimension, and what seemed to be several minutes of searching may have been instantaneous.   Eventually Sybok found himself, standing apart from the rest but still alive in his father’s mind.

The aura of emotions surrounding this younger version of himself were also conflicted.

“Sybok.”

Hearing his father speak, he ended his psionic wandering and let himself refocus on the interior of the tent, the cushions collected together to make a bed, the layers of heavy rugs keeping Sarek warm.

“Where am I?” his father asked.

“In the Neutral Zone,” Sybok replied, “specifically on the planet Nimbus III, the continent called New Atlantis by the Federation, _Ilhusra_ by the Romulan Empire.  We are camped two hundred and eighteen _ir-kebi_ southeast of its only city.”

Sarek did not respond quickly, perhaps consulting his own knowledge of this world, which could barely be called inhabited.  Sybok decided to pre-empt the expected enquiries.

“When you feel strong enough, I will show you my subspace scanning array.  I believe your Ambassador Spock would be impressed by its capabilities, because I was able to intercept the transmissions which passed between the two of you.”

Sarek dipped his head once, an acknowledgement that the need to know how his eldest son could have been aware of his location and subsequent distress had been satisfied.

Sybok hoped it also acknowledged “a level of ability that had few precedents”, the exact wording of his final year results report from the Vulcan Science Academy.  They thought he would achieve great things, his professors.  But they were not willing to accommodate genius in any form.

“It seems appropriate,” Sarek’s voice rasped on the third word, “that you and I should be reunited at this point, being fellow outlaws.”

Sybok risked a smile.  That, after all, had been the expression on the face of the ghostly Amanda Grayson which Sarek remembered with such deep affection.  His smile would be a test, would establish what, if any, kind of connection could be rebuilt between father and son.

***

Sarek experienced a curious sensation, as Sybok had approached him.  This room where they met, a tent pitched in the utter wastes of Nimbus III, itself a world isolated by the political boundaries between the Federation and Romulan Empire, seemed the epitome of privacy.  And whether this explained his reaction, he could not be certain.  But it seemed as though his eldest son briefly occupied his innermost self, the self he protected and controlled with the mental disciplines passed down from their ancestors.  It had not been disturbing or unpleasant.

Perhaps his own isolation, injury and the ostracism dictated by a shift of opinion within the hierarchy of New Vulcan, made him consider new associations.  It did not demand that he abandon his normal behaviour, only that he meet his son halfway.

 _Your smiles,_ the _tel-tam’a_ voice of Amanda said, _are passable.  Understated, almost deniable, but a useful addition to your diplomatic skills.  They always put humans at ease._

He bequeathed one of these to Sybok.


	16. Truth and Consequences

Gajra Anand was cross-analysing the medical data gathered about the crew during the Nibiru mission, when Doctor McCoy stormed into the lab.  He stopped at the desk facing her and slammed his PADD down hard, as if she wasn’t there.  The noise made her jump.

She looked at the PADD first.  Couldn’t believe he hadn’t shattered it.

And then she looked at the doctor.  McCoy met her eyes for a second, taken aback, then lifted his hands and scraped them down his face from forehead to chin.  She heard a gusty sigh.

“Nurse,” the CMO demanded, “is it me?”

Gajra was smart enough not to answer.  Sometimes it was him – his tolerance threshold for people and the things people were inclined to do fell lower on the scale, compared with Christine Chapel. 

“There’s been a violent attack on High Command,” McCoy moved his hands to his hips, “which is unprecedented and we don’t know the reason for it.  Now, wouldn’t you say it was critical for everyone to stay calm in that kind of situation, not start making decisions faster than you can fire phaser blasts?”

Gajra had noted that Captain Kirk and Commander Spock, both at the scene during last night’s firefight, had no post-incident medical checks on file. 

“What’s happening?” she asked.

“Damned if I know.  Damned if anyone knows  -- Jim is down in the cargo bay giving orders like a dictator, dismissing anyone who has an issue with him, including me.  Scotty has just flat out refused to cooperate with his nonsense, and now Jim is chasing after his chief engineer while his vital signs are this close to a cardiac arrest!”

McCoy showed her his right thumb and index finger almost pinching, to make the point.

Gajra stayed quiet for a few seconds.  It seemed to her that the doctor was also close to something.

“Is it true we’ve lost Admiral Pike?” she asked at last.

McCoy let out a long breath as he nodded.

“Yeah,” he said.

That admission seemed to relieve some of his anger.  Gajra was thinking what a waste it was, all the work they had done to treat Pike’s injuries after the battle of Vulcan, work that had been undone in seconds by maybe one well aimed shot.

“I didn’t know him well,” she said, “but he was a good patient.”

Then doctor and nurse shared the best part of a minute in silent consideration for the dead.  McCoy picked up his PADD and checked it front and back for damage.

“Spock served under him longest,” the doctor added.  “At least he’s managing to keep it together.”

Gajra opened her mouth to argue, but then decided to close it and go back to her work.

Cross analysis was a new Starfleet medical requirement.  The technique combined studies of crew movements, associations and biometrics that could sometimes foresee a medical issue or work out the cause in retrospect.  Before she had been startled, Gajra was looking closely at data for the senior bridge officers.

In the days following the neutralisation of Nibiru’s volcano, she found that Captain Kirk’s biometric readings improved.  He slept and ate better, had more frequent increases to his dopamine levels and other hormonal reactions suggesting he might be less bored and more engaged with the routines of starship life … or something.

By contrast, Lieutenant Uhura’s readings deteriorated.  This would have made sense if the attempt to rescue Commander Spock had failed.  Commander Spock’s readings did not provide any helpful comparison.  Apart from the lapse he experienced during his second visit to the surface of Nibiru, he was able to regulate his body’s responses such that the nurse could not determine whether he was well or ill, happy or unhappy.

And yet, she reasoned, data from the start of the mission proved the Commander didn’t always exercise such a high level of control.  Relaxation usually occurred in off duty time spent with Uhura.  So Gajra layered crew movement information over their biometrics.  And that made her suspicious. 

But she would not speak with McCoy until she had more information.  She put in a request to view the crew duty roster, including any authorised changes.      

***

“Captain …,”

Nyota spotted Jim Kirk heading for the turbolift, and walked faster to catch up.  Hard to believe this was the level to which she would stoop, seeking out the one man she used to avoid on campus, the one who might be bringing her worst fear into reality by becoming the new focus of Spock’s affections.

But she tried to keep in mind what Thillula told her, what she knew made sense when she wasn’t giving in to paranoia.  Vulcans don’t mess around like that.

Overnight she built some inner steel, in preparation to face the Commander again.  That might hold, or it might not.  Nyota realised her smartest move would be to enter the bridge with someone else, anyone else.

Kirk glanced at her with a look that might have been asking, “Shit, what now, Lieutenant?”  And of all the reactions she might have felt, she found herself sympathetic.

“I’m so sorry about Admiral Pike,” she said.

“We all are.”

She couldn’t quite keep pace with him, and her attempt at consolation had just been expertly deflected.  Teasing would be a bad idea, obviously, but it was difficult not to wonder if he’d been taking lessons from a certain half Vulcan about how to shut himself up tight so that nobody could guess what he was feeling.

“Are you okay?” she ventured.

“Fine – thank you, Lieutenant.”

He gained a greater lead on her, but not enough.  She made it into the turbolift close behind, turned when Kirk turned to face the doors and the second they were sealed inside she heard him sigh.  Sigh _twice._

So, definitely not fine -- needing more Spock lessons.

“Actually,” he muttered, “Scotty just quit.”

That did not compute.  Nyota was going to express her disbelief, but Kirk shut her up by adding, “And your boyfriend has been second guessing me every chance he gets.”

 _Her_ boyfriend?  Hers now?  Since when?  She faced front again; she could feel her face warming and her jaw muscles tighten.  If Kirk thought he could just hand Spock back the moment _his_ boyfriend got a little pedantic, like what did he expect  – ,

“Sorry,” Jim said, “that was inappropriate.”

If she recalled correctly, Kirk had never apologised for upsetting her before.   In shock, her brain started to process two different responses at the same time.  One planned to say something sarcastic about the unexpected pleasure and the other intended to be kind, and tell him that it really wasn’t needed.  Caution closed her open mouth before she did something stupid like muddle the two sets of words together.

But Kirk wasn’t waiting for a reply.  “It’s just sometimes I want the rip the f--,”

Fucking, Nyota thought the word that her captain held back.  You want to rip the fucking --,

“—bangs off his head,” Jim finished.

Well, miracle of miracles.  First an apology, and now a sentiment she could agree with, heartily.   Dangerous, the way this conversation was going.  If it went on much longer, who knew what might happen.  Maybe the Captain would start calling her Nyota on the bridge and Spock would have to deal with the fact that this no longer upset her.

It would serve him right.

“Hell,” Jim sighed, “maybe it’s me, I --,”

“It’s not you,” Nyota interrupted.

And instantly regretted it.  When Kirk asked, “It’s not?” she said nothing.  But that was too late.

“Wait,” he turned to her, “are you guys – are you guys fighting?”

What a mistake.  She should have known better – this was the man Gaila had loved in spite of himself.  Kirk would never be a person with his feelings locked up, or sending conflicting signals like Spock.  Kirk would be as open as an Orion.  If he had feelings for Spock, the kind of feelings she had been so worried about, nobody would have needed to guess.  Kirk would have thrown a party to celebrate the first time Spock slept with him, if that’s what he’d wanted, and asked her to open a shipwide channel to broadcast the announcement.

No, he had not changed.  He was being Jim Kirk, unashamedly relieved and intrigued to learn that he wasn’t the only person upset with the First Officer.

“Oh my god, what is that even like?”

She held off his questions just long enough for the turbo lift doors to open.

***

 _“I will not take any steps to lessen the consequences of your actions._ ”

On this point, Spock’s older counterpart had been uncompromising. 

The first consequence already weighed heavy.  Experiencing the last, semi-coherent moments of Admiral Pike’s consciousness, as it was dragged down by a sudden, dark vortex which seemed to claw at Spock’s mind as if it desired him for its second victim, left him too nauseous to eat.

It also hurt to see Jim Kirk grieve.  And while Spock had wanted to reach out, as Kirk had once reached out to him, he feared the gesture might be misunderstood.  He feared the wrath of the Ambassador.   

Spock did not believe it would be inappropriate to express gratitude for his reinstatement as First Officer on the Enterprise.  But the second consequence of his actions after Nibiru was a wavering confidence that doubted the Captain’s motives.  Did Kirk actually desire his experience in command?  If so, why reject his advice?  Reject and insult – “I am not going to take ethics lessons from a robot”.  Why dismiss him before he could finish making a valid point about the photon torpedoes?  If Kirk wanted Spock’s expertise, why had the so-called Lieutenant Carol Wallace been appointed Science Officer?

What did Kirk want with him?

No possibility suggested itself until he was waiting to leave the bridge.  The doors of the turbo lift had opened, revealing Nyota and the captain face to face and deeply engaged in a discussion they ended abruptly – too abruptly – upon seeing him. 

The moment was pregnant with unspoken thoughts from past and present.

Nyota broke the impasse by stepping forward with a cold look and no greeting, not even the acknowledgement of his rank.  It almost disabled his efforts at composure.  Her pull on him was so strong his body turned involuntarily in her direction as she passed.

And then he stared, with no heed taken to disguise how obviously he needed her, trying to process the additional pain of having proximity to the woman he loved without closeness.  Kirk would not have been blind to his distress.

“Ears burning?”

In the ancient, Terran empire established by the Romans, it was common to treat bodily reactions as indicators of events happening beyond one’s perception.  These notions outlived the civilisation, surviving as idioms or proverbs.  In the case of burning ears, Kirk seemed to be confirming Spock’s suspicions that the conversation inside the turbo lift had been about him.

Then he considered the fact that both of them had reason to feel he had treated them unjustly.  Taking revenge would be unprofessional, out of character for Nyota.  And yet …,

Even the smooth descent of the turbo lift made him dangerously queasy.  He got out on B deck, not his intended destination, and made himself walk a lap round the corridor until the discomfort subsided.  Logic, like a friend, perhaps the only friend he currently possessed, walked by his side.  It advised him not to reach a conclusion on the basis of such flimsy evidence.

Do your duty, it said.  Should your suspicions be borne out by the subsequent actions of the Captain and Lieutenant Uhura, it would not be inappropriate to approach Admiral Marcus after the mission and discuss whether Kirk’s decision to reinstate his First Officer may have been too hasty.

His stomach, by the time he got back in the lift and travelled down to the cargo bay, felt cramped but bearable.  He took long strides across the floor to work his abdominal muscles, intent on the location where the ship’s computer told him their new Science Officer was at work.  


	17. The Gifts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Vulcan terms used in this chapter:  
> Gluvayak – my invention. According to https://www.starbase-10.de/vld/, gluvaya is the verb for ‘display’. This term refers to the ability Sybok appeared to have in Star Trek V: The Final Frontier – he read minds without melding, could extract memories and project them into physical space like virtual reality. I’ve given him the same ability here.  
> Ozh-estra – the gesture exchanged by bondmates, using middle and index fingers as in the TOS episode “Journey to Babel”  
> Fullara – see Memory Alpha http://memory-alpha.wikia.com/wiki/Fullara a Vulcan ritual to suppress memories.  
> Sa-mekh and Ko-mekh – father and mother

Sarek considered the advantages of his present state.  His former diplomatic life, though it gave an appearance of freedom due to the amount of travel involved, was in fact greatly constrained.  Everything he said or did was judged as a reflection of the culture he represented.  Managing a concept of Himself – whether that was distinct from his ambassadorial persona and if how so – this had often presented a greater challenge than drafting treaties, mediating trade negotiations or preparing a Vulcan school to integrate a dozen restrained but still highly demonstrative Terran pupils.

And he would admit he behaved differently on his home world.  On Vulcan he performed before his most discerning audience. 

But now, being a fugitive and outlaw, there was opportunity to reassess, to question, to entertain ideas which, however intriguing, might have compromised his focus before, insinuated themselves into his way of working and made him a greater concern to the High Council than he had been.

“You have doubts,” Sybok said.

They sat cross-legged on the floor of the tent where Sarek had recovered from his injuries.  They faced each other, with a holographic fire pot between them.

“Would you allow me to demonstrate,” his older son said, “by showing you what you have been thinking since we ended our meditation?”

“Showing me?”

Sarek had been doubting.  His doubts were stronger now, because no post-Surak Vulcan had possessed this particular psi ability – _gluvayak_ \-- to such a degree. Historians, monks and priestesses alike had considered it a lost gift.  Yet he watched, as Sybok’s eyelids fluttered momentarily and then opened.  After that, his son’s unblinking stare was intent.  A non-Vulcan would likely have found it disturbing.

“Or let me begin before that,” Sybok said.  “At the point of your meditation where you entered the state of _ku’li_ , I perceived that you had an image in mind of her, the teacher.”

Sarek managed his sharp ache of disappointment.  It had happened before, and was nothing new.  Sybok had never been willing to address Amanda by her name.

“It is an image we share, since it was my first memory of her.  She did not have Vulcan clothing, and chose to arrive in Shi’Kahr wearing a Terran garment you learned to call a _salwar kameez …,”_

From that moment, Sybok’s voice seemed to recalibrate in Sarek's hearing, and he could suddenly hear Amanda explain.

“I had it made in Vancouver,” she said.

And she appeared, standing to the left of the firepot.  The garment was not a robe but a long-sleeved grey tunic that came down to her knees, combined with billowing trousers and a sash made with enough fabric to cover her head and shoulders.

Sarek stood carefully, stepped closer.  Her shape seemed to occupy three dimensional space – he could walk all the way around her.  He had done this in 2228, at her request, to assess whether this attire would be suitable for the remainder of her visit.

“If not,” Mrs. Atkinson said, “I want you to recommend a merchant in the city who can provide something better.”

But Sarek found nothing to fault.  On the contrary, his attention lingered on the generous pleats in the _salwar;_ they ensured the trousers remained in motion, however still the wearer.  The wind caught the fabric easily, and like a sail or a banner it rippled against the backs of her legs.  And when it wrapped close against her skin, fitting the curve from calf to ankle, that was when he first had to assess and manage an injection of desire which created heat around the base of his _lok_.

It was also necessary to deal with shock, manifesting as denial, and dismay.  This took longer than the few seconds required to regulate his sexual response.  Sarek found he had to go back, conduct an inventory of his memories to determine when and how he had learned to find the idea of interspecies attraction repellent.  At that point in his life, he had never heard it directly addressed, and considered it something Vulcans could not experience.

But he could not begin that examination immediately.  He had to store his concerns for later consideration, because the pupils of Vuhnaya Academy were still seated inside their shuttlecraft, waiting to be welcomed by the Vulcan Ambassador, and receive final instructions from their teacher before they took their first steps on the surface of a different planet.

“You brought the children to our home,” he heard Sybok say softly.

Sarek continued to be impressed by the detail in his son’s psi projections.  Now he appeared to be with Amanda inside the larger of the two formal reception rooms in the Ambassadorial residence.  It had a different aspect when T’Rea lived there.  The walls displayed heraldic weaponry belonging to her royal line, one hundred and twenty four pieces in total, and a suit of sehlat armour.  Sybok could remember how the space and décor, combined with the elegant but stoic presence of his bondmate and son, left many of the students fearful.

“It was the same year I discovered my aptitude for _gluvayak_ ,” Sybok claimed.  “Every mind could be open to me, without melding.  I found the young Terrans fascinating.”

Sarek approached the projection of his waiting wife and son.  He extended his hand to T’Rea, with fingers positioned for _ozh-estra_.

“I was able to inform my mother about your recent internal conflict,” Sybok said.  “At the time I considered it an act of loyalty to her.  In retrospect, I believe it served you both.”

T’Rea would not return the gesture.  She saluted her husband and Mrs. Atkinson as if they were both visiting guests.  She spoke to the students in High Vulcan, obliging Sarek to translate.  Years later, Amanda would admit she had been indignant on his behalf during that difficult first meeting, without knowing she was a contributing factor.  She also marked it as the moment she realised she was attracted to him.

“You want to know how it affected me,” Sybok read the question from his father’s thoughts. 

“She was your mother,” Sarek replied, still facing her replica.  “And I had been unfaithful to her before.”

Sybok stood up and joined him.

“ _Gluvayak_ revealed to me that many bonded pairs were incompatible to a greater or lesser degree, remaining together for logical reasons – to provide stability for the children they had produced, or to continue an economic alliance between their respective families, or simply to guarantee themselves a partner during _plak tow_. Indiscretions -- such as your affair with Tetov’yth T’Shin, which I also discovered from your thoughts -- they were infrequent but not unusual.”

“Did knowing about them contribute to T’Rea’s death?”

Sarek was surprised to hear himself ask this question.  It was utterly illogical – his first wife inherited a gene mutation which put her at risk (the chance estimated at fourteen percent) of brain aneurysm, and a much lower probability that one of these might be fatal.  After the student exchange ended, he did not see Mrs. Atkinson again while T’Rea remained alive.  But he thought of her, and presumably Sybok continued to inform his mother of this fact.

But Sarek had never before entertained this irrational speculation, that his indiscretions had any bearing on her --,

“This is your great pain,” his son informed him.

Sarek allowed confusion to show on his face, by tensing his procerus muscles to create a crease between his eyebrows.

“I have no memory of pain,” he said.

“And yet I have learned that even Vulcans, with their power of recall, can deceive themselves in cases where a memory creates sufficient emotional disturbance,” Sybok replied.

“You are referring to those who undergo _fullara.”_

“I am not.”

Sarek studied the projection of T’Rea longer.  There were emotions in this illusory reception room, which he perceived now.  They seemed to run underneath the floor like a current.  They gave him an ache in his back teeth, and while they possessed an unmistakable, dark aspect the specifics eluded him.

“I can relieve you,” Sybok said.  “That is also part of the gift.”

And his eldest son changed position, so that the two of them faced each other again.  The projection continued to surround them.  It created visual irony, because the real Sybok smiled at his father while the image of his younger self, standing close behind, showed no expression.

“Would you allow me?” Sybok asked.

The question suggested that his son’s talent, though powerful, could not coerce.  And at the same moment he concluded this, Sarek felt the current of emotion cut off. 

“ _Sa-mekh_ …?” his son asked again.

Behind him, the projection of young Sybok behaved in accordance with Sarek’s memory from that day.  He addressed T’Rea – _“Ko-mekh” –_ and the two of them left the reception room.

“Allow me time to consider,” Sarek replied.  “Private time.  Given your enhanced psi abilities, I must rely on you to honour that.”

“Of course,” Sybok conceded.

The projection seemed to evaporate.  The tent walls reappeared, heaved in and out because of the desert winds, and reminded Sarek that there was an external world to explore.

“I have spent a long time under the sea,” he told his son, “with no access to natural light.  Is there any danger if I walk outside alone?”

After a pause, Sybok said, “None.  I would only caution you to avoid the Vents, an area you will easily identify if you bear eighteen degrees from the tent entrance.  The citizens of Paradise City warned me that where these holes exist in the planet’s surface, it is unstable.”

***

It alarmed Chibuzo to learn that the _Shi’ka’ree_ was flying through Klingon space.

“There is no danger?” she asked Maral.

“None,” he said.  “All the Klingon houses recognise the vessels belonging to clan Menos, and know that we are honourable.  It is a reputation that has been worth our while to cultivate.  We will pay a short visit to Kronos, to transact some business.”

For a few hours at the start of each day, Kandibe/T’Praa was brought to Maral’s creche and shared the bowl with Kolkan’s twin girls.  Though Chibuzo now stood several feet away, her daughter seemed to have picked up her mother’s anxiety.  She stopped what she was doing and began to look around her as if searching for something.  And then, when that something could not be located, she began to whimper.

“Wait,” Chibuzo said, when Maral turned in the baby’s direction.  She went herself, stepped inside the bowl and picked up her daughter.  She touched Kandi’s plump cheek; the baby’s frustration travelled in a warm flush across their connected skin.

“She misses her _a’nirih_ ,” Maral remarked.

He stepped into the bowl and the twins were distracted from the visual feed displayed along the sides for their instruction.  They crawled over to their great, great grandfather and embraced his legs.

“She expresses this emotion predictably when she wakes.”

“Sarek cared for her in the mornings,” Chibuzo said.

“T’Raan has asked the Xindi government to tell us the Ambassador’s location,” Maral told her.  “They say they have been given strict instructions not to communicate this information to anyone.”

The pale featured Vulcan reached out to Kandibe/T’Praa, making his own assessment of the baby's feelings by his touch.

“Yet it seems odd to us,” he added, “now we understand the bond Sarek established with your child, that he should not seek some contact with her, as she seeks it with him.”

The look Maral gave her asked a question, perhaps a number of questions.  But Chibuzo knew he was not uncomfortable with any reluctance on her part to answer.

She had not yet told clan Menos about the katra of T’Shin: who that was, how she was given this gift by her late husband’s family, and chosen to become the vessel for the spirit of their esteemed matriarch.  The silence of that spirit, since the day of the escape, might mean that T’Shin had extended her energy across whatever distance (space had no meaning for a soul) to remain with Sarek, and therefore she did not think of him as being without contact, but perhaps not strong enough to use it.  She repeated this line of thought, hoping Kandibe/T’Praa somehow drew that reassurance from the fingertips caressing the side of her face.  Kandi had stopped whimpering, and looked up at her now with wide, interested eyes.


	18. Qonos

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Vulcan terms used in this chapter:  
> Pudor-tor ko’mekh-il – honoured grandmother
> 
> Klingdon terms Nyota uses in the turbolift:  
> Qi-Yah – holy shit  
> Qastah nuq jay – what the fuck is going on?  
> Mok’Ta vor kash a’veh – you are an enemy of my house  
> Petaq, Toruk-dor, Mak’dar, Yintagh – various insults.

_“Qi-Yah!!”_

Oh yes, Nyota thought, that felt good.  Why hadn't she done this before?

_“Qi-Yah, qastah nuq jay, Vulqangan!”_

What the fuck _is_ going on, Spock?  Why did you turn and look at me with those big, soft eyes like you had no idea why the captain would need to ask if we had a problem working together?  Has Kirk seen the revised security settings for your quarters?  Does he know I had to consult my timetable at the end of every shift, because it changed that often?

_“Jim Kirk -- Mok'Ta vor kash a'veh!!”_

And was it _really_ necessary, Captain, to express a private concern about your senior staff with _everyone_ on the bridge?  The entire crew is as good as told now.  God, between you and your First Officer, I don't know who should get punched harder –

_“A'veh petaq, Kirk!”_

Nyota swung with her left arm, aimed a hook at where she figured his jaw would be.

_“Spock -- a'veh toruk-dor!!”_

There was just enough space inside the turbolift for a high kick.  The toe of her boot cast a shadow over the doors.

_“Mak'dar!!”_

_“Shuttlebay level,”_ the computer announced.

_“Petaq!!  Mak’dar!!  Yintagh!!”_

Then the doors opened.

Nurses Bristow and Anand stood waiting on the other side, along with a junior engineer whose bandaged head must have been injured when Chekov unexpectedly shut down the warp core. They gazed at Nyota with a mixture of expressions: concern, surprise and amusement.  Uhura paused a beat, to reset her default language to Standard.  She also considered, with a certain pride, how her voice had carried though the walls.  Before she stepped out of the lift, she straightened her black jacket and adjusted her scarf.

“Practicing Klingon,” she said, as she walked round them.

***

What the hell would a Klingon captain do, Jim wondered, in his situation?

Walking along the high gantry that connected Shuttlebays One and Two, he could look over the railing and spy on Spock and Uhura.  The half Vulcan was presenting his best imitation of the support girder that happened to be behind his back; he stood straight, still and silent.  Lieutenant Uhura was several meters away, facing the opposite direction.

Was she talking to herself?  Her lips were moving, but she wasn't facing anyone in hearing distance.

Jim got their attention by pounding down the stairs, so the sound of his boots on metal carried over the surrounding clamour.  That worked; they both turned their heads to identify the noise.

Spock marched across the shuttlebay floor to meet him as he reached the bottom.

“Captain, may I carry those for you?”

Those deceptively elegant hands reached forward to relieve Jim of two clothing packs, replicated for the security guys McCoy insisted they take as backup.  Jim’s eyes were drawn to Spock’s long fingers, and he remembered.  Not even a week ago, those fingers had brushed against his and he could have sworn his second in command was ... flirting? Could Vulcans flirt?

Jim gave Spock half a smile.

“I’m fine,” he said.

Spock fell in step behind him and they both headed in the direction of Bay 7, where the K'Normian vessel was being prepped.  When they passed the spot where Uhura waited, she didn't speak or move.

If he'd been a Klingon Captain, Jim imagined, he could have shouted some insult at her.  That probably passed for camaraderie on Qonos.

And then he could hear, from some distance behind him, what sounded like Uhura catching them up with some sharp words – maybe Klingon insults she was trying out, to see if she still remembered them.  Not that he knew anything about the language, but whenever he’d heard it, those guttural sounds always made the speaker seem pissed off.  He grinned to himself.

And then he frowned.  That last bit – did she just say ‘Kirk’?

“Lieutenant?” he called over his shoulder.

Uhura’s gruff monologue stopped abruptly.

“Sir?”

“I should get you to teach me some day.  Sounds like a good way to let off steam.”

The K'Normian vessel was in their line of sight now.  He listened for more Klingon ranting, but the only talking Jim heard for their last twenty paces came from Sulu, transmitting from the bridge.  Uhura was silent.

Lieutenant Hendorff stood watch at their ship's entrance hatch, and called out, “Ready to deploy, Captain.”

Relieved by the distraction, Jim stopped to hand over the clothing packs and explain how their disguises were necessary to avoid drawing the Federation into war.

He wanted to warn Hendorff about the other war, the one he feared might break out on board before they got to Qonos.  He didn't have a strategy for dealing with _that_ conflict.

***

Spock grimaced as he bent forward to take his seat inside the K'Normian cockpit.  A glass of water, quickly swallowed while he changed in his quarters, seemed to ease the constant burning sensation in his lower abdomen, near his heart.  But that was all he dared ingest. 

Some diversion from pain was also afforded by reacquainting himself with the vessel’s controls.  The ‘Mudd Incident' had been routine, a short diversion from their return journey after Nibiru.  Authorities on Vega colony had apprehended and charged their suspect.  Confiscating Mudd's craft gave Spock a convenient way to avoid Nyota for a shift they would otherwise have worked together on the bridge.  He removed himself and the Captain on the excuse that they needed to inspect and test fly the seized spacecraft.

The systems were straightforward.  He doubted Nyota would require any help to activate her station.  Yet he could not bear any more of her silence.

“The communication sub-routines are configured under the Security set--,”

“I found them,” she interrupted, adding, “sir” like an afterthought.

As expected.  Spock used his right hand to initiate pre-flight checks.  His left hand crawled underneath his jacket and pressed against his shirt where the discomfort was greatest.

And then, because it was the only way he could interact with her, he listened to Nyota breathe.  After she had exhaled six times, the Captain came aboard.

“Are we ready, Spock?”

“External integrity is good, Captain. Engines and navigation online.  I have yet to confirm --,”

“Internal operations and comms ready,” Nyota pre-empted his next enquiry. 

Spock heard Kirk clear his throat.

“Thank you, Lieutenant,” he replied.  Then Spock heard him settle into the pilot's seat, felt the engines activate and saw the readout on his display which indicated that their flight deck had been cleared.

“Right,” Kirk said, “deploying thrusters for lift off.  Uhura, I need an external radius sweep of two hundred kilometers to detect any vessels that might scan us.  Spock, locate Harrison.”

“Aye sir.”

They replied in unison, perhaps the only form of ‘working together' they could achieve.  Spock initiated a scan of Qonos, specifying the parameters of Ketha province according to Starfleet intelligence data.

As he watched the system divide the area into a grid and scan each sector, Spock considered the fugitive.  John Harrison had taken inordinate risks. He made no attempt to conceal his part in the London bombing, and his attack on Starfleet High Command could have resulted in his own death as easily as he had murdered Admiral Pike.  Seeking refuge on Qonos made no sense – if discovered the Klingons would show Harrison no mercy.  It would be safer to stay in Federation space and risk arrest.

And that led to a critical question: what would cause Starfleet's best agent to destroy his own reputation and care nothing for his own life?  Spock had wanted to raise that point with Admiral Marcus and Captain Kirk.  But the men had seemed too driven by emotion, unable to question their desire for Harrison's death.  Spock wanted to point out that self preservation, which ought to be any criminal's highest priority, did not seem to be the driving force behind Harrison's choices.

“We have clear space for the specified radius, Captain,” he heard Nyota say.

As the shuttlebay doors opened, Spock knew he must give Kirk the results of his own scan.  But a thought diverted him.  Harrison’s actions – exposing himself to danger, taking unneeded risks and betraying the organisation and individuals he once served faithfully – the same descriptions could apply to his own actions during the Nibiru mission.

And then he believed he knew what Harrison might be doing.  He might be protecting other lives.  If they could prove that, they might understand Harrison enough to predict what he might do next.

The thrust of acceleration brought Spock back to the present.  Once they were clear of the Enterprise, he told Kirk there was, as expected, a single life sign in Ketha province.  Uhura broadcast Sulu's announcement throughout the vessel as Spock laid in their course for Qonos.  Then there was little to do but wait until they got closer.

He heard Uhura exhale.  This breath was expelled with a certain increase of force; whether it qualified as a sigh was debatable.

But it made Spock aware of his pain once more.  He assigned himself another diversion, an exercise in probability.  How likely was it that Harrison would attempt to kill them in order to resist arrest?

He spoke his conclusions aloud, since they were three minutes from destination.

“Fantastic,” the Captain replied.

Spock did not anticipate a response from Nyota.

***

T’Raan called herself the ‘retired' commander of _Shi'kar’ee_.

Chibuzo took tea with the older woman and her bondmate.  T’Raan provided intermittent company; she often glanced down at her lap, where her PADD lay.  And at one point she asked the ship's computer to open a channel to the bridge.

“Kolkan,” she asked when he came online, “why have we diverted from our usual course?”

Kolkan replied with exaggerated fondness.  “ _Pudor-tor ko’mekh-il_...,”

Maral, sitting across the table, raised his eyebrows, then began to collect their empty cups.

“Grandson,” he said via the computer, “we must find a better diversion for lady T’Raan.  Do you require any assistance cataloguing the supplies we just acquired on Qonos?”

Chibuzo smiled.

T'Raan protested.  “We require permission to fly outside Klingon commercial airspace.”

“Which we have received,” Kolkan said.  “There has been a disturbance in Ketha province.  The Klingons have ordered us to avoid the area so that we are not caught in phaser crossfire.”

“Did they give you details?”

“ _Ashayam_ ,” Maral laid a hand on her shoulder, “we can not expect--,”

“On screen,” they heard Kolkan give his orders over the link.  There was a pause, before he said, “Grandmother, we are approaching a Federation vessel.”

“In Klingon space?” Maral asked.

“Go to tertiary alert,” T’Raan ordered her grandson.

Chibuzo heard a low buzzing sound through the walls.

“Their shields are up, but the ship is moving on impulse only,” Kolkan reported.  “They are scanning us.”

“Let them scan,” T’Raan said.  “Our Vulcan life signs should discourage any aggression.”

“Is the Federation risking war with the Klingons?” Maral asked.

“That hardly seems wise,” T’Raan observed.

“Grandmother,” Kolkan said, “I have little inclination to stay and find out.  I suggest we move on at full impulse.”

“Agreed,” she replied.

But she continued to study whatever appeared on her PADD, and touch the screen.  T’Raan made no comment when the tertiary alert stopped sounding, though Maral breathed out with relief.  He stood up and carried their tea cups away.

“Interesting,” T’Raan said, when she and Chibuzo were alone.  “I do not recognise the registration for that starship – NCC 1701.  It must be new.”


	19. Regaining Lost Contact

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Vulcan terms used in this chapter:-
> 
> a’nirih - father, but implying guardianship rather than a genetic link. The word for biological father is sa-mekh.

Nyota flanked John Harrison on his right as they led him to the K’Normian ship.  They walked, steering round the wreckage of a Klingon ship their prisoner destroyed, stepping over Klingon bodies that were mainly his victims.  Spock held a gun aimed at Harrison’s back, but what did that mean?  That may as well have been a gesture in a parade drill.

Yet Harrison made no attempt to resist.  He obeyed Kirk’s order to get on board first.  He stood in the central gangway until told to turn left into the hold.  Hendorff and Powell took charge of him then, made him sit on the floor of a cargo locker, which they could secure with a force field.

Nyota found herself standing shoulder to shoulder with Spock at the doorway to the hold, watching the security officers assure Jim that the field parameters included the ceiling and interior walls.

Jim wiped his own blood off his cheek with a bruised hand.

“Captain,” Spock said, “Lieutenant Hendorff has medical training to stage three.  I suggest Uhura and I fly this vessel back to the Enterprise while he treats your injuries.”

Kirk’s expression showed all the defeat that Harrison’s did not.  Nyota felt compelled to add, “We’ll be fine, sir.”

Kirk studied each of them for a few seconds before he agreed.

Nyota could imagine what the captain was thinking.  But he didn’t need to worry about another argument; everything she felt when she left for Qonos had been blasted away during the fight.  She was still processing the experience.

Around her throat, where the Klingon soldier grabbed her, the muscles still hurt.  The knife she used against him had been drawn to silence her.  Back in her university days, there had been photographs in her textbooks to demonstrate what deadly work Klingons could do with their blades - victims slashed down the middle of their bodies from sternum to pelvis, their hearts sliced out and shoved between their knees.   

And while she had demanded that Kirk let her speak with them, she didn’t have any of those textbook photos in mind.  She had talked about torture, yes, but in the abstract.  Without being consciously aware of it, she did exactly what Spock had done in the boiling caldera of Nibiru’s volcano.  All the hours of mental training proscribed by her guardian T’Shin created an automatic reaction to crisis, locking up her fears.  Those walls of control were in place before she strode out to meet their captors.  She could not have kept her cool otherwise.

And Spock must have put himself through the same process, in order to stay silent and let her go.

When they turned their back on the cargo hold and returned to the cockpit, Spock took Kirk’s seat.  Nyota held back a few seconds.  Then she stepped up behind him and gripped both sides of his headrest.  She saw him check the reflection in the darkened view screen, which showed her looking back at him.

“Lieutenant?”

Nyota swallowed before she said, in Vulcan, “ _This is our life now.”_

He questioned her meaning with a quirk of his eyebrow.

“ _As long as we remain in Starfleet,”_ she clarified, “ _it will require us to let go of each other, with no promise of return._ ”

He could see how her left hand was drifting closer to his face.

“ _The Academy did not conceal the risks of service,”_ he replied softly.  “ _Yet you speak as if the realisation of them has never occurred to you before.”_

_“Not properly.  Not until I really believed I was going to die.”_

One fingertip, tapping him on the cheek shocked her with his pain.  She withdrew it, sucked in a breath and blew out unsteadily.  In their reflection, Spock had turned to stare at the hand that touched him.

“Nyota …,” he pleaded.

How far back did the hurt go?  The lingering feeling of connection was like an archive file of anguish, going on and on and still not revealing where it began.

“ _I accept that our association, going forward, will be strictly professional.  But I would …,”_

When he faltered, she said, “No.”  But he did not seem to register that.

“ _I can no longer bear to be your enemy.”_

“No!” she said again.  And she stepped around the pilot’s chair so that he did not need to make do with her reflection.  Consciously now, she employed T’Shin’s psi training to strengthen her defences and her resolve.  Then she placed both hands over Spock’s meld points.

He protested.  “ _We must get back to the Enterprise.”_

But the relief Nyota knew she gave him the instant she made contact again, was enough to staunch Spock’s resistance.

***

“The other one now, sir.”

Jim dropped his treated hand and held up the one that still had scraped, bruised knuckles.  Lieutenant Hendorff started scanning for bone damage.

They didn’t look each other in the eye.  Jim knew both of them were remembering that night over two years ago in the Shipyard Bar, when Hendorff made him pay for having such a big ego and a bigger mouth.  Pike had been right – he’d looked like an idiot with napkins stuck up his nose, but he didn’t see it then.

From his makeshift brig cell, John Harrison was watching the procedure with an expression that relegated Jim to something lower than stupid.  So it wasn’t good to look in that direction either.

That left only one option.  There was a clear line of sight into the cockpit.  That probably made him a voyeur, but Jim figured that was the least of his offences.

He bit his lip when Uhura put her hands against Spock’s face.  Jealous?  Yeah, he wouldn’t deny that was his reaction.  And if he believed he could be as good for his First Officer as the Lieutenant was, then maybe he’d be making plans now to compete for that half-Vulcan heart.  But he’d be kidding himself, yet again.

Undaunted by those thoughts, jealousy persisted.  Jim heard it like a person, speaking with Gaila Jadillu’s voice.

_Jim, sweetie, having someone to bang is important, of course.  But that doesn’t mean one particular person, with whom you aren't having sex, should become any less important._

_Gaila, if you were still around, I probably wouldn’t care about Spock._

_Yes, you would._

_How do you figure?_

_Because Spock is your mirror._

_Mirror._

_You look in the mirror every day, don’t you, sweetness?_

_Gaila, what the hell --,_

_Answer my question._

_Yes._

_And do you like what you see?_

_I do … mostly._

_And what do you do about the things you see that you don’t like?_

_I try to fix them._

_Well, there you go.  Spock is important to you because every time he does something you don’t like, it conflicts with the fact that you like HIM.  And that forces you to go back and look at yourself more carefully, which you wouldn’t do otherwise.  You’re doing it now._

_Am I?_

_Don’t play stupid.  You’ve just been thinking about how everyone else seems to be a better person than you in some way – Hendorff, Lieutenant Uhura, even that John Harrison, if you ignore how much he gets off on killing innocent people …_

_Okay, okay –_

_And you are thinking Spock is better too, because he always obeys the rules while you can't seem to go very long without breaking them.  Sounds like you want to fix something._

_I do._

_Then go consult your mirror.  Ask that question you were thinking about when Spock surprised you and told you he DID care about dying. Understand him better and you will understand yourself._

“Captain, you’re good,” Hendorff powered down the dermal regenerator and set it back in its dock.

“Thanks …,” Jim dug through his memory banks to retrieve the Lieutenant’s first name, “Govan.”

Hendorff gave him a tight lipped smile, but a glance at security officer’s eyes told Jim it went down better than that.

***

The heat of the star that shone down on Nimbus III had intensity, to make its desert an environment comparable with Sarek’s memories of Vulcan wilderness.  The dry air seemed to have restorative effects.  Sarek could think of no other reason why he found himself with the strength to walk further than he anticipated.  He used the tricorder Sybok gave him to guide his steps up into a range of low hills.  Now he stood on the summit of the highest one, and could look back and see the tent differently, as being only a small feature of a much greater panorama.

This was the better place to consider his son’s offer -- whether to be healed of his attachment to Amanda.

From where he stood, Sarek could also identify the area Sybok had referred to as ‘the Vents’.  If he turned to his right and began a descent, he would reach a plain.  The ground was level and the soil fine grained and containing high levels of phyllosilicate minerals, suggesting the surface may once have been covered by water.  Now it was dry, a lattice of cracks and fissures.  Gaseous vapours emitted from some of the larger openings.  Sarek chose one at random and the tricorder gave him a depth reading of one hundred and twenty _mat’drih._

Understandable, then, why Sybok had cautioned him about walking there.

_And yet I have seen footprints._

The sudden opening of the bond was not welcome.

_Tetov’yth T’Shin, why are you here? You should be with your host._

_Chibuzo is safe,_ T’Shin assured him.  _T’Praa also, though she is too young to understand the absence of her a’nirih._

_Then you must reassure her.  I ask this._

_I must remain where there is greater danger, S’chn T’gai Sarek._

He disagreed, and walked forward seven steps to demonstrate.

_You see that danger has passed.  I have recovered from the attack._

_You have allowed your anxiety for T’Praa to distract you, and have not considered everything I said. Think back to my initial statement._

_… footprints?_

_And footprints overlapping footprints, down in the Vents.  I see from your thoughts that Sybok your son has urged you to keep away from this place.  And yet his feet make regular journeys over that ground.  Long journeys._

_Perhaps he knows where the surface is stable.  Or perhaps his gift of gluvaya gives him insight._

_His gift is powerful,_ T’Shin concurred.  Yet Sarek felt her ambivalence.

 _Speak your mind,_ he urged.

_I can speak of little.  We both know that his mother T’Rea came from a line that, in ancient times, was reputed to have people who could perform miracles.  But these are pre-Surak legends without credible evidence.  What I know is this: shortly after attaché Narjan rescued you from the poisoned egg, a second katra appeared briefly at your bedside._

Sarek was puzzled.  He asked -- _Are the dead visible to the dead?_

_Visible, though not always easy to recognise.  I was a much younger woman and Sybok a much younger man, the last time we met._

Sarek found his mind protesting loudly at this impossibility.

_T’Shin, are you claiming that this other katra belonged to Sybok?_

_This is the nature of his gift, it seems.  Your eldest son is able to imitate the dead, by transporting some of his consciousness out of his body._

_How did you determine this?_

_By following you.  When you arrived on Nimbus III, the second katra paid another visit, but this time it travelled within the living body of Sybok._

_Perhaps Sybok carries the katra of another Vulcan._

_Not in this instance._

Sarek paused, to digest all this information.  He set the tricorder to scan an area of several hundred _mat’drih_ over the Vents, asked it to collect data about anomalies on the surface and report the number and variety that it found.

Having considered everything, he asked T’Shin – _where is your cause for concern?_

_I have not discovered it yet._

_But you believe that one exists?_

_The katra of your son was not pleased to find me with you.  I was … urged … to keep my distance._

Sarek watched the tricorder catalogue the myriad displacements of soil which were the obvious features of the plain below: the mesh of openings crisscrossing like so many cuts made with a knife over the crust.  Occasionally the device recorded the presence of stones.

He asked – _If this is true, why are you here with me now?_

_Because Sybok is keeping the promise I can read from your thoughts.  He has given you the privacy you requested._

When the tricorder registered a number of larger stones, all occupying the same coordinates, Sarek asked for a visual impression of that location based on the data.  The image the instrument configured was an oblong mound of rocks, measuring twice as long as it was wide. 

 _It concerns me that Sybok wishes to isolate you, and himself._  

_He was cut off from his home world._

_But not from all intelligent life.  Sarek, something is wrong._

At one end of the mound, there was a configuration of single stones laid out across the ground.  Sarek asked the tricorder to adjust the angle of perspective, so that he might have an aerial view.  And as soon as he received it, he recognised the shape of the stones, and knew that T’Shin was correct.

***

“Spock?”

“Captain.”

“How long before we get back to the Enterprise?”

“I calculate nine minutes and forty-two seconds to reach the shuttlebay doors.”

“Gotcha,” Jim said.  “Mind if I ask a question?”

“I have no objection.”

“It’s about the volcano …,”

His First Officer missed one beat, but recovered quickly enough.  “Please proceed,” Spock said.

“Sulu told me Scotty came up with an idea to start the cold fusion device counting down inside the shuttlecraft, and drop it into the volcano.  He worked out the timing and coordinates and the exact altitude so that the device would detonate before it hit the magma --,”

“—on the assumption that the magma would remain stable, which was unlikely given --,”

“Wait, wait, but he allowed for instability, didn’t he?” Kirk argued.  “And you had three devices prepared, so that even if the first one failed to detonate, Sulu said he could make minor adjustments to his flight pattern and try again.”

No answer.

“That plan would have kept you completely safe, Spock.  But you wouldn’t let them go ahead --,”

“Mister Scott was very late making his proposal.”

“How late was too late?  Don’t tell me your brain didn’t have enough time to work out whether the plan made sense.  And if you don’t mind my saying, you didn’t give them a logical reason for refusing.  You just pulled rank – _my rank._ Sulu said you told Scotty the Captain had turned him down.  But I didn’t know anything about it until we had docked the Enterprise and I was about to beam to Earth for our meeting with Pike.”

Jim heard Uhura make a weird noise, like she was trying not to laugh.  How was this funny?

“Spock, if you cared about dying, like you tried to convince us, why wouldn’t you consider Scotty’s plan?”

No answer again. 

“Spock,” Uhura said, “you might as well do it now.”

“Do what?” Jim asked.

“The Captain may not have time to view all the files,” Spock protested.

“Files?”

“Spock sent more than a mission report to Admiral Pike, sir,” Uhura explained.  “Perhaps the Commander will let me make his long story short …?”


	20. Open Wounds

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The untranslated Vulcan sentence in this chapter - "Vataa shi Nimbus rehkuh, svi’pa-tukh krau-tra", translates, "Vataa's location is Nimbus III, amid the gas vents."
> 
> I should be able to end this story with two more chapters. Check out end notes if you'd like to help me decide what to write next.

For the length of his jacket, and its quilting, Spock was grateful.

Nyota’s meld prized open all the locked down spaces of his psyche, dark and abandoned like the rooms in his San Francisco apartment.  Sudden light and air came flooding inside; suffocated emotions took their first, feeble breaths and tried to move again.  She had become too adept at reading his mind.  She could pick apart the discarded tangles of reactions and counter-reactions that had tied him in knots.  Key pieces of justification, which he had laid down to form a bulkhead and dam up the connection between himself and himself, she pulled them away first, so that the remaining structure could not support itself.

For the duration of their flight back to the Enterprise, Spock felt raw.    

One kiss, in this compromised state, had weapons capability he could not deflect.  The sharp power of her forgiveness and love travelled fast and deep from her lips, sank hooks into all the exposed internal wounds he’d inflicted on himself since Nibiru.  And when Nyota pulled back, smiled and walked away, he discovered how those hooks tied him to her all over again.

He did not turn to watch her go; he was harpooned and towed.

He followed in her wake.  When he reached the banks of quarantine pods he shut himself inside the unit next to hers.  Eighty-nine seconds into the routine post-flight bioscan, Nurse Rowena Bristow spoke to him through the comms link.

“Commander, sorry, I’m having trouble interpreting your vitals.  Are you all right?”

The readings were available to him also, graphically represented on the pod wall display.  Admittedly, they presented contradictory facts.  There were indications of both healing (even pulse, increasing immune response) and hurt (fluctuating blood pressure).  Hormone levels ran high with dopamine and adrenaline at the same time.  He could not fully suppress an erection.

“Our encounter with the fugitive was difficult,” Spock said, knowing that this explained none of his symptoms.

“Do you require assistance?”

“Negative,” he replied.  “The time it will take to shower and change back into uniform should be sufficient to achieve equilibrium.”

“I could authorise additional medical leave, if you wished to meditate.”

“Nurse Bristow, we remain stranded in Klingon space.  The situation is too critical to warrant leave for anything but serious injury,” he said, “which is not my case.”

Six point three seconds of silence followed, after which the nurse replied, “I’ll take your word for that, Commander.”

He was given a Medical Pass Grade (Qualified) and the pod was unlocked to let him go.  When he stepped back onto the shuttlebay floor, it relieved him to see that Nyota had been released earlier and was nowhere in sight.  Spock went directly to his quarters, directly to his hygiene station and stripped.  He took lubrication into the sonic shower and stroked himself to as many ejaculations as required, until the memory of her kiss could be processed without making him press his face into the tiles and sob or become hard again. 

***

Because the twins were no longer shy around Chibuzo, Maral let her sit on the floor of the crèche bowl with Kandibe/T’Praa in her lap, and help her daughter with her lessons.  The display on their side of the bowl was teaching Vulcan character recognition and phonetic pronunciation of simple words.

“ _Thas,”_ said the programme’s recorded voice, and the word appeared on the display.

“ _Thas,”_ T’Praa repeated.

Chibuzo held a PADD at an angle her daughter could reach.  The programme instructed them to choose characters by tapping their tablet to produce a replica of the word they saw.  T’Praa did this in less than fifteen seconds.

“Correct,” the programme told them.

“Admirable,” Maral commented, as he watched from the other side of the bowl.  After three more correct and efficiently executed spellings, he added, “It is remarkable that T’Praa achieves to such a high level, given her disadvantage.”

Chibuzo paused the programme and turned her head, so she could look at him.  She did not need to enquire about this disadvantage.  When Tonev/Karimu decided to release his wife from their bond, and make public his relationship with a Terran female, both he and Chibuzo faced questions and concerns from Vulcan family and close associates.  _Are you certain this is best?  Are you thinking about your future children?  They won’t truly belong – they will be considered inferior._

And while the existence of S’chn T’gai Spock was common knowledge, the majority of Vulcans seemed to hold the view that he was a fluke. 

“Your expression suggests you disagree,” Maral said.

Chibuzo was about to reply when her attention was enveloped by an energy, as if her second soul had returned.

_-My daughter, Sarek needs help-_

“Mother?”  She was not certain she perceived what she perceived.

Maral misinterpreted her confused expression.  “Or are you unwell?” he asked.

_-You must ask clan Menosa to divert this ship-_

Because Maral came over to her and offered his hand, Chibuzo gave him the PADD.   But she was not ready to stand.

“May I speak with T’Raan?” she asked.

“Certainly,” he said.  He hailed the ship’s computer and asked for a comm connection with his wife.  The retired commander’s voice, when she spoke, did not broadcast well – the sound seemed distant and distorted by an echo.

“ _Ashayam,_ I apologise.  I am harnessed to the coils of our new warp drives.  We are running tests before we deploy.”

“The mother of T’Praa wishes to speak with you,” he replied, and gave Chibuzo permission to take over the link with a nod.

Chibuzo called out, “T’Raan, I host the katra of Tetov’yth T’Shin.  She returns from being with Ambassador Sarek, and tells me he needs help.”

There was no reply.  Maral crouched down to look her in the eye.

“A katra?” he asked.

“Is Chibuzo unwell?” T’Raan finally responded.

“I believe she may --,” he began, but Chibuzo interrupted.

“If you meld with me,” she said, “you will know.”

Maral stood quickly, and took two steps away from her.  Chibuzo realised what she had said in haste was tantamount to asking for physical intimacy.

T’Raan’s reply was cold.  “Have her escorted by security to the healers.”

“No,” Chibuzo replied, “wait --,”

Maral set the PADD on the floor of the crèche bowl, and picked up the twins.

“T’Raan,” Chibuzo continued to plead, “How else can I show you?”

The katra assured her.  _–I have a way—_

The abandoned PADD began to flash.  Maral stared down at the device, confused.  It re-activated the lesson programme, and new words began to write themselves on the side of the bowl.

“ _Shi’vukhut t’Vataa_ ,” the programme's voice said -- the grave of Vataa.

“Vataa …,” Chibuzo heard Maral repeat the name, softly.

T’Praa, innocent of understanding, repeated, “ _Shi’vukhut t’Vataa,”_ while waving her hands with delight at having a new assignment.  Then, without prompting, the little girl added words which Chibuzo did not fully understand.

“ _Vataa shi Nimbus rehkuh, svi’pa-tukh krau-tra.”_

Chibuzo looked to Maral for a translation.  But the old Vulcan was wide eyed, and unless she was being fooled by a trick of the light, those eyes were glassy with moisture.

“T’Raan,” she asked, “what has my daughter said?”

But the comms link was silent.  Meanwhile, the bowl display erased itself, and on the blank screen an image appeared.  It looked like a grave in the desert.  Not newly made, because the mound of stones had been eroded by wind and sand, so that the topmost ones had no sharp edges.  There were additional stones arranged on the ground nearby.  The programme shifted its viewpoint until Chibuzo felt she was hovering directly over the burial.

The arranged stones formed a pattern she recognised.  It was a Vulcan clan sigil, one that she saw everywhere on the ship: stencilled onto the doors and hatches, sewn into the tapestries which lined the walls of residential decks and on the new gown T’Praa wore.  Even the bowl display had a very small version that appeared in the top left corner.

Maral had allowed himself to weep.  Chibuzo turned again to ask him for help, and saw a tear run down the side of his face, over his jaw and down inside the high collar of his robes.

Over the comms link, T’Raan’s voice was harsh.  “I will order Kolkan to set a course for Nimbus III.  Our warp drives can prove themselves in action.”

***

Without the katra of T’Shin, Sarek felt lessened, deprived of strength.  Or was it something else?  The walk back to the tent may have been too long for his present state of recovery, or the questions provoked by his discoveries troubled him in ways he needed meditation to assess.

His steps became slower and slower as he tried to cover the distance that separated him from shelter.

And the desert heat had transformed from a source of restoration into an oppressor, beating on his head.  The haze it created on the near horizon started to play tricks with his visual perception.  Sarek thought he saw the entrance to Sybok’s tent being lifted.  At first he presumed his son would step outside to look for him.  But the emerging figure wore different robes, and something about its height and the nature of its movements left him unsure.

Then a sudden change of wind direction and velocity filled the air with fine sand, and when that died away the figure had gone.

Seven steps later it appeared again, nearer.

It had moved too quickly to cover the distance on foot, and Sarek could not understand why he had lost sight of it for so long.  He relegated it to a mirage, and was not surprised to see it vanish again.

Fifteen more steps.  The tent still seemed distant, and Sarek found it more difficult to breathe.  He stopped, bent forward and held himself by the knees.  He counted his breaths instead, and the beats of his heart.  Normally, a supply of water would not have been necessary for such a short foray into the desert.  Now he was thirsty.

His shadow darkened the ground directly under his body.  Its outline was sharp right down to his outer robe -- though it flapped in the wind the moving silhouette was crisply defined.  There were less distinct shadows made by the ever-swirling sand, which resembled faint grey ripples.  A third shadow drew up on his right hand side, small and round and hazy at its edges.  Sarek wanted to stand and identify what kind of object cast it.

He also wanted a few more seconds of rest.  He encouraged himself with the idea that the shadow might be the product of an airborne drone, sent by Sybok to locate him.  If he remained where he was, let the drone report back, his eldest son might ride out in the same hovercar that made the journey to Paradise City to collect his father from the Xindi.  Sarek's weak legs hoped for this.

But the drone’s shadow did not go away.  Instead it seemed to move erratically from one side of him to the other, and Sarek’s eyes could not always keep up with it.  It would make him dizzy to continue the effort.  He decided to keep his gaze straight ahead, at the patch of sand directly in front of his feet.

Twelve seconds later, the small, round shadow travelled straight across his line of sight, remained visible even where his own shadow already blocked out the sunlight.  It left him wondering if the heat was having a more detrimental effect than he realised.

Until he heard a voice.

It was female, Vulcan, faint but not because it consisted of vibrations picked up by his ear from a long distance.  The voice spoke within him.

He was reminded at once of a remark made by T’Pau in 2218, that katra could exist for many years without a host, but these were almost useless as sources of knowledge.  Thousands, apparently, once roamed Vulcan’s wastelands.  They were drawn to living minds, wherever they found them, and assailed their temporary hosts with indistinct and often repetitive babble.

_-Why, why are we here?  Why have you brought me?  Why?  My parents would have welcomed you.  Why will you not agree to see them?-_

Anguish accompanied the sound.  The emotion was much stronger than the speech; Sarek had to fight the urge to stand up quickly, as if to see what was wrong.  When he did finally straighten his back, she was visible.  He could make out her face within the small, round shadow.  Her eyes were pale.  They stared at him accusingly.

 _-Why?-_ She asked again.

“I do not know the answer,” Sarek told her.  “You must give me more information.”

_-You, you will not be told!  You have not listened to me before.-_

“I am listening now.”

_-Why are we here?-_

“Where is here?”

_-Even the Vulcan deserts contain more life.  And our ships are places of life in the deserts of deep space.-_

“Tell me about the ships.”

_-You will not be told!  You will not let me go – why?-_

Sarek pursed his lips in sympathy with the katra’s distress.  She could be speaking about events that happened months or years ago, or refer to a situation that had resolved itself before her death.  He should be sensible, set aside his reactions, and treat her as a curiosity.

“What is your name?” he asked.

 _-Vataa-_        

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Very soon "Love the Unintending Rebel" will wrap up. I have been agonising all summer about what to write next. What I really need is the 4th Kelvin timeline Star Trek film, to see what the scriptwriters will do with Spock and Uhura. But I can't see that being ready before Summer 2020.
> 
> And my university course will begin on 6th October. That means whatever I do write straight away will probably have shorter chapters, and after all the unavoidable sadness that drove the last three parts of the "Soul Possessions" series, I could really benefit from some fluff with a side order of extra fluffiness.
> 
> I've got no shortage of ideas. Two are Spuhura/Spyota: firstly just some romantic drabbles set before the start of "Love the Unintending Rebel", about the time Spock/Uhura lived together in Tanzania while Nyota finished her Academy degree. I could follow that next summer with a story set after Star Trek Into Darkness but before Star Trek Beyond. That might involve Spock and Uhura having to deal with the New Vulcan Ambassador and her granddaughter, and will involve the rescue of said granddaughter from some kind of peril plus a sub-plot about how Hikaru Sulu and Ben became parents.
> 
> Third idea is a departure. I have created a second pseud called MenPlayingCricket -- it's for the part of me that wants to write Spirk and Spones. I have one Spirk idea which is really calling to me right now: imagine AOS Spock as a widower with two adult children, living in San Francisco. It's been three years since Nyota died and the children believe their father needs to move on and find a new bondmate. They want him to set up a profile on a dating site for Starfleet personnel. He isn't interested, so they decide to create a fake human profile just to see what kind of potential partners are out there. And that's where they discover a profile for Jim Kirk or "Uncle Jim" as they know him, because they grew up on board the Enterprise. 
> 
> I'm imagining a farce where Spock and Kirk become each other's 'date' without realising that's what is happening. You could call it 'Academy romance' meets 'old married Spirk'. And I'm thinking there will be an AOS version of David Kirk, creating a sub-plot because he wants to make contact with his father as well. Bit vague, I realise, but I rely heavily on inspiration as I write.
> 
> You might not be crazy about any of these ideas. I have never tried asking for requests, but I used to do that for my high school girl friends way back when, and it was very motivating. If there is a trope you love, coffee shop AU or something holiday themed or whatever, put it on a comment (anonymous comments are 100% OK by me) and I will see if my muse gets energised by any particular suggestion.


	21. No Safe Place to Stand

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Whew - very long chapter, which is why I didn't get it published yesterday. But I couldn't break off any sooner that I did;  
> that didn't seem right.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Vulcan terms used in this chapter:
> 
> gnal - tumor  
> a’lazb - spider

Nyota heard Len McCoy’s voice, louder than all the competing noise.

“Engage emergency lockdown!!”

She lay where she’d fallen, face down on the Medbay floor, thrown off balance when the lights dimmed and the Enterprise lurched to its starboard side.  Before she could push herself up, she felt a hand grab her arm.

“Quick,” Gajra Anand said in her ear, “I’ll secure you to one of the beds.”

Nyota pulled away.  “Need to get to the bridge!”

“It’s not safe!”

Standing up took concentration; she couldn’t take for granted where to position her feet.  Gajra had to grab her again, help her check her balance.”

“I can’t be here,” Nyota pleaded, “I need to be --,”

The nurse shook her.  “Uhura, this ship is falling!”

And Nyota could feel the floor begin to list the other way.  A few more seconds and the two of them would slide and crash into a bed anyway.

“OK,” she said.  But Gajra was already pulling her.

“ _Attention All Decks,”_ blared the comms system, “ _prepare for Emergency Evacua—“_

Shattering sounds drowned out the rest.

“—get you to an escape pod,” she heard Gajra say.

“No!!”

“Lieutenant, there’s no --,”

Nyota wrestled herself free and grabbed an instrument docking rail.

“I won’t leave if he won’t,” she said.  “And he won’t.”

A sudden lurch threw Gajra off balance.  Her hand flew out to Nyota, who strained to reach it.  Uhura caught three of the nurse’s fingers and held on as the whole of Medbay tipped portside, the evacuation sirens continued to wail and her nerve endings registered a sickening tactile sensation, the dislocation of small bones.

The only mercy was that the noise drowned out Gajra’s scream.

To distract herself, Nyota conjugated Cardassian modal verbs at the top of her voice – _I can, you can, we can hold, it can hold, I must hold._

Slowly, slowly the room returned to something almost level.  Nyota scrambled over the floor, helped Gajra to her feet and they staggered together to the nearest biobed.

“Get up,” Nyota said.

Gajra protested, “I’m the nurse.”  But her injured hand was pressed against her body.

“I’ll get a bone setter,” Nyota rushed to the docking rail again, snatched a repair unit and rushed back.  Gajra had managed to lie down.  Nyota barely finished fastening Anand’s restraining straps before she found herself dangling from them.  The ship rolled upside down.

Perversely, even this did not make reality sink in.  As the lights strobed on and off, Nyota looked down past her feet, at a spot between the ceiling joists and made herself think it.  _We are falling.  Out of control.  Why aren’t I afraid?_

To her right, she could see Doctor McCoy, harnessed to his workstation, yelling into the communicator, “Ensign Alda, tell Acting Captain Spock we won’t get anywhere near the damn escape pods unless he can work out a way to _tip us_ in the right direction!”

To her left was Carol Marcus, leg barely mended, secured on her own biobed with eyes closed and lips moving.  Her hand was beating a rhythm on the mattress.

And above her head, Nurse Anand was repairing her own broken fingers with the bone setter.

What Nyota felt wasn’t fear, but pride.  Such a young, inexperienced crew – the Academy exposed them to simulated dangers, endless drills, told them the best officers learned to operate at a special mental setting where danger was just another problem to tackle.  How many times had they faced death already?  Maybe it had accelerated their development.

The Enterprise eventually put itself right way up, and she could set her feet on the floor again.  But the acceleration of their fall made her steps feel lighter. 

“Uhura!” McCoy called.

Nyota turned round to see the doctor pointing at her knees.

“Extra harnesses under that bed,” he said.  “Make yourself safe.  God knows how this will end.”

***

A hovercar did come.  From a distance its appearance, distorted by the desert heat, was ghostly.  And as it approached, and the sound of the engine grew louder, Sarek saw the katra of Vataa react.  Its small shadow shape elongated, fluttered.  After a few seconds of transformation, Sarek could see a portrait of the individual who had been alive, just the head and shoulders.  And he questioned his judgement, for though it had given itself a Vulcan name and spoke his language fluently, the ears and hair and forehead ridge he saw were all characteristics of the humanoids on Agaron.

It puzzled him.  Sarek had visited Agaron many times; his grandfather led the negotiations that established an alliance with the people of that planet.  They had their own beliefs about existence after death, which did not include a concept of the mind and body as distinct.  They were frankly disturbed by the Vulcan claim that some non-corporeal element of an individual could be preserved.  They had experienced nothing like that.

Nevertheless, what appeared to be an Agaronite katra continued to alter its manifestation.  It reached a height of one hundred forty-four centimetres, with most of its blackness billowing and twisting below its head and shoulders like dark fabric.  It slowly turned away from Sarek and faced the hovercar as the vehicle reached them and drew to a halt.

The near side flank hatch lifted.  The shadow let out a shriek.

_-SYBOK!!-_

All its darkness plunged into the open cockpit.

_-SYBOK!-_

Sarek marvelled at the power this katra possessed to manipulate its form.  Like smoke, it had filled the interior of the car and was spreading itself over the exterior.  Sybok emerged from all this shadow, stooped and moving with effort as if the blackness weighed on him.

He remained hunched even after he had stepped into full sunlight and faced his father.

“What have you done?” he bellowed at Sarek.  “How did you know??”

The head and shoulders of Vataa appeared on the roof of the hovercar, looking down on the two of them.

_-Sybok-_

Vataa’s voice was quiet now, and rasping, as if the earlier exclamations had made it hoarse.

“I cannot answer your questions,” Sarek said to his son, “without clarification.  What do you believe I have done?”

“Get in the car.”

“Sybok --,”

“The car.”

Sybok pulled back the sleeve of his robe to reveal the phaser he grasped in his right hand.

“The possession of personal weapons is illegal on Nimbus III,” Sarek said.

It was his ambassadorial voice that spoke – the Sarek who had become an outlaw knew that anyone living in isolation like Sybok would be foolish to go unarmed.  But he presented himself as a diplomat to buy a little time, because his legs were so tired they trembled, and he did not want to move.

It was not unexpected that his son raised the phaser and pointed it at him.

“In a different situation, I would welcome the debate,” Sybok said.  “That is what I hoped for, why I brought you here.  I imagined that we would spend years together, in stimulating conversation about matters of philosophy and science.  But that is impossible now.”

Sybok gestured with the phaser.

“Get into the car.”

Sarek managed small steps, with the dubious advantage of having time to observe how it felt to walk into Vataa’s expansive shadow.  The darkness seeped through his robes and made his skin seize up as if he were chilled.  And as the level of shadow rose over his shoulders and throat and chin, it seemed that he would breathe as well as feel the anguish and fury which were the only emotions this katra had to express.

Vataa rode with them and within them, as Sybok started the hovercar and the vehicle computer announced that they would continue to their programmed destination.

Slumped in his seat, Sarek breathed heavily, and most of his capacity for self-control was taken up trying to keep himself awake.  The journey seemed long, longer than needed to return to the tent and too long to endure the misery of Vataa.

“Sybok,” he called out, in a moment of weakness, “who is she?  Who is Vataa?”

His son took too long to answer.

“She was my bondmate, _sa-mekh,”_ he admitted eventually.

Vataa’s reaction was immediate and fierce.

_-Why are we here?  Why have you brought me?-_

“You bonded with an Agaronite?” Sarek asked.

_-You will not be told.  You will not listen.-_

“I bonded with a Vulcan,” Sybok replied.  “A daughter of the clan no Vulcan may mention in polite conversation, a descendant of agent Menos.”

_-Even the Vulcan deserts contain more life than this place.  It is unbearable.  I must see some other life, visit my parents.  Let me leave.-_

Sarek hoped his son would reveal more, at least to distract them both from the ravings of the shadow.  Perhaps Sybok, being stronger, could manage in silence.

Then Sarek must have succumbed to his weariness, and fallen asleep.  He did not recall the hovercar slowing down, or coming to a halt.

“We are here,” Sybok announced.

When the hatch opened, swirling wind invaded the car.  Vataa dissipated like smoke.  But her voice, if anything, became stronger.

_-If you care for me, Ashayam, let me leave.  Or leave with me.-_

The heat.  Sarek felt it and strongly suspected that he did not have the strength to deal with it any longer.  His eldest son turned round in the pilot’s seat and seemed to reach a similar conclusion.

“The quicker we do this,” he said, “the sooner you will get relief.”

Then he stood, stored the phaser in a holster under his cloak and pulled his father out of the car.  He did not force Sarek to do more than that, so there was time for the worst of the vertigo to pass, for Sarek’s vision to clear and discover where the hovercar’s computer had taken them.

“The Vents,” he murmured.

At close range, the landscape expressed nothing but hostility.  The surface waged a constant war with compounds trapped below ground: where it could hold firm it did, but there was nothing gained.  Nothing organic could mix with the pale, mineral dust to make soil.  Where it could not hold, the surface had wounds – ruptures and tears and long, gaping lacerations where hot gases had forced their way out.  The shadow of Vataa, like a low lying cloud, had suspended itself over one of these deadly chasms.

The air was hazy, bitter to taste and Sarek’s throat and lungs, not fully recovered, found breathing it uncomfortable.  Sybok, however, seemed indifferent.  His tone was conversational.

“I met Vataa in Paradise City,” he explained.  “Nimbus III must import most of what it needs.  Clan Menosa used to visit regularly with supplies to trade.  I think she was fascinated by my reputation, as much as anything.  Vulcan rebels are a rarity.”

Sarek wanted to concede this point, but did not believe he could spare the energy for speech.

“Vataa’s great grandmother, T’Raan, commanded the Menosan fleet.  She did not approve of me.  What she did not know was that I had developed shielding for my tent and hovercar, which prevented scans from detecting any life signs there.  And so it was easy for Vataa to indulge her own desire to rebel, and flee with me into the desert.  Her family had no idea how she disappeared or where she had gone.”    

The katra of Vataa had moved lower and lower until it effectively filled and concealed the rift in the ground.  It created the illusion of a black lake.  Sarek had the support of Sybok’s arms, and his son guided him closer to the shoreline.

Then Sarek felt the ground give a little under his feet, and baulked.

“Do not test me,” Sybok warned.  “If what we do is risky, that is a consequence of your actions.”

“My actions?” Sarek asked.  “How?”

But instead of answering, Sybok continued his story.  “For three hundred and eighteen Nimbus days, we loved each other.  Love –,”

He paused to laugh.

“I believed I knew its limits.  Before Vataa, I had indulged every appetite and given myself over to every kind of desire.  I believed I had already been in love, more than once, and fallen out of it. As a result, I thought little of it.  My experiences caused me to both admire and despise you.  Admire, because you seemed to understand the impermanence of love – your infidelities demonstrated as much.  And yet I despised you, because you let love for the Terran female override consideration for yourself.  It seemed to me you sacrificed much for her, yet gained very little.”

And Sarek, because control was beginning to fail him, sniffed dismissively.

“It seemed logical that Vataa and I would eventually satisfy our need for each other, and agree to part.  And so I made promises without considering myself bound by my words. I agreed that we could return to Paradise City one day, and present our bond to her family. But that was only because I was prepared to please her while doing so was pleasant to me.”

_-Sybok-_

Something disturbed the smoothness of the black lake.

“But when she began to ask me about that day, ask me repeatedly because I evaded the discussion, I knew ours was not like any intimate liaison I had had before.  I feared Paradise City.  I believed her family would either persuade her to leave me, or take her from me as I had taken her away from them.”

_-Sybok, let me go.-_

“When she persisted with her demand, I believed she no longer loved me.  And I could not bear it.”

_-Let me go.-_

Though the sensation was so slight as to be barely perceptible, Sarek felt his feet continued to sink.  The air burned inside his lungs.

“I gave her no choice except escape.  She tried to take this hovercar, but I anticipated that.  I programmed the computer so that it would fly only so far and stall.  I caught up with her here, still trying to break through my security protocols.”

“What did you do?”

Sarek had to ask.  After finishing his last sentence, Sybok seemed to leave mundane consciousness behind and enter a different state, one that kept him utterly still and staring into Vataa’s blackness. 

_-You will not let me go.  Why?-_

The katra stirred again, pulled back the cover it had placed over the fissure, where the crust of Nimbus III had been torn open.  Sarek studied the chasm drop, which fell for a clear eleven point five meters, after which a gaseous haze intervened, and it was impossible to know how much deeper it descended.

“She tried to run away," Sybok's voice was a whisper. "This is where the ground was too unstable, and she fell."

Grief intervened immediately on hearing the words.  Sarek could not prevent it; he could only try to engage his thinking, hampered by the intake of poor quality air.  Several seconds went by before he could muster the necessary reasoning to contest Sybok’s claim.

“…not logical…,” he said, and coughed to clear his lungs of phlegm.  “Her katra could not be captured if she died in this manner, unexpectedly, and her body lost.”

“This is not her katra,” Sybok replied.

Sarek felt himself scowl.  “Impossible.”

“What you see did not originate from her, but from me,” Sybok explained.  “This is my _tel-tam’a –_ my phantom bond.”

And then his son was seized by some violent passion, because he turned to face Sarek and gripped his father’s arms hard enough to cause pain.

“You know--,” Sybok choked on his words, “you know exactly how real it seems.  You know how you cannot control when the memories appear or how they affect you.”

Sarek was trying, and failing, to get ahead of his son’s words and anticipate what he would say next.

“Yet,” Sybok said, “I knew my own mind.  It was my mother’s mind – more capable than other Vulcans.  I was determined to heal myself.  And I did.”

“How?”

“I dissected the memories of Vataa, every one -- cut them carefully away from every place they resided in my consciousness.  Each cut was a release from pain, the pain of loving and losing her.  It took me as many days to do that as we had been together.  But when I finished, I was at peace.  It seemed as though I had never known her.”

Under the punishing desert heat, Sarek felt suddenly cold.

“I treated the memories the way one would treat a sacred katra.  I made a vessel for them out of stone.  I drove back to the Vents, to the place you must have seen.  That is her temple, or was --,”

Sarek made a noise, an expression of pain because Sybok had tightened his grip.

“Let me go,” he pleaded with his son.

“But you released her!!” Sybok bellowed.

“No,… T’Shin …,” Sarek could not finish.  The pain in his arms, his lungs, his head – he felt himself teeter on the edge of sensibility.  In his mind, Amanda had rushed to his side, clasped his face in her hands.

 _“Is this what Sybok would have done with me?”_  

The horror.  It made everything in front of his eyes go black.

 _“If you had agreed to let him help you, he would have surgically removed me.  He would have locked me inside a stone, and left me in this godforsaken wasteland until the ground opened up and swallowed me_.”

“No,” he said, or thought of saying.  He no longer knew which.

“I would not agree to that.  Never.  I could not live without your memory, even if I should find another bondmate.  Love --,”

At the mercy of his emotions, Sarek searched for the words.

“If Sybok understood love, he would know that it cannot be cut away as if it were no better than some malignant _gnal_.  If he truly loved Vataa, he would live with her memory and die with it.”

Relieved, Amanda embraced him, covered his head with her sash and caressed his hair. 

He was not troubled when she faded away.  That was the nature of _tel-tam’a_ , to come and go.  For however long she held him, she had strengthened him.  His vision returned, though not fully focussed.  And he found that he had moved.  He was back inside the hovercar -- Sybok must have carried him there, though he could not comprehend why his son had chosen to set him down in the pilot’s seat.  He was in no state to operate a vehicle.

“ _Sa-mekh_ …,”

With some effort, Sarek turned his head in the direction of that voice.  Sybok stood perhaps a meter from the open hatch.  Behind him, his phantom bond with Vataa had assumed a shape that might have been the closest approximation to her living form.  There were only two differences - her body remained nothing but shadow, and her limbs were out of proportion.  The arms that reached around Sybok to embrace him were unseemingly thin and angular, like the legs of an _a’lazb_ when it seized upon its prey.

She did not hinder her bondmate’s right arm, which held the phaser aimed at Sarek.

“Your thoughts have made your wishes clear,” his son said, and quoted Sarek’s own words back to him.  “If I truly loved Vataa, I would live with her memory and die with it.”

The shadow Vataa tightened her grip.

“Now I can say I fully despise you,” he continued.  “You would insist I burden myself with this pain, as you burden yourself.  What do you know?  You despised my mother, because she could not love you.  Yet you know her mind was superior.  If your wish is to die with the memory of your Terran whore, I can assist.”

In the moment Sarek acknowledged that he would be killed, Amanda returned.

 _“This is too soon,”_ she said again.

This time, he did not dispute.  He had come so close to losing something just as precious as she had been – the reaction was not logical but he only felt relief, as if she had never left him, because he realised that she never would, not in life or in death.  It was enough.  He waited for Sybok to fire the phaser.

***

“It’s a miracle.”

Nyota said it aloud, as she rode up in the turbolift.  She hadn’t said it before, though it almost became a catchphrase in Medbay after power was restored and they felt the thrusters like strong arms lifting the Enterprise and putting them back in control.  Quick as thinking about it she’d unfastened her harness and bolted into the corridor to get back to the bridge.

“A miracle?”

T’Shin taught her scepticism.  She had been a romantic child, though probably no more than any other five year old, fond of fairy tales and wishing there were such a thing as magic.  Did she wish that now?

A worry niggled her.  She was trying to remember her lessons in warp core maintenance -- the common causes of failure and how to repair.  Knowledge, she shook her head at the irritating reality, soon became hard to access if it wasn’t your speciality and didn’t get used.  If they lost central power and auxiliary power, as McCoy said they had, then the ship was like a hovercar parked in a garage with a cold engine.  It needed that first spark to ignite and set off a chain reaction.

And that spark … she tapped her head as if that might help her remember.  That first spark was created during the early construction of a starship, because the ignition housings produced dangerous levels of radiation, and so were aligned and fired up in space by remote control.  Only then, after the reactor core was sealed, could it be towed back to dock and fitted to the Engineering deck.

But how could Chekov have used droids for repairs, if they had no power except the last dregs of emergency reserves?

The question was on her lips as the lift doors opened.  But before she could ask, before she had taken three steps onto the bridge Spock charged past, so fast she spun round trying to follow him with her eyes.


	22. First Steps Towards

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Vulcan terms used in this chapter:
> 
> Vi’mashaya P’pil’lai’ai is the Vulcan term meaning ‘saturation of the severed bond’, and refers to symptoms of mental illness caused by the sudden termination of psi bonds. It is the illness Spock suffered during “Night is Not Yours Alone”.  
> Kaasa – a fruit which turns dark red when ripe. Mentioned in Chapter 15 of “The Architecture of Emotion”.  
> Shi’yuk – bedroom  
> T’sai pudor-tor – Honoured Lady  
> Zahal-tor du – Follow  
> Sha’ti – literally, a niche or cubbyhole. I imagined that the first dwellings constructed on New Vulcan would have been small and functional, and acquired this name to distinguish them from the larger homes that would be built later to accommodate growing families.

 

The Vulcan girl who attended the market stall had a name -- Serral.  She also had a story.

But Christine did not know either of those things when she made her sixth visit to collect Ambassador Spock’s rations.  The girl kept her Terran customer waiting for over half an hour, deliberately overlooking her to serve Vulcans who were not next in line.  Christine held out.  Eventually there was no one else with a basket to fill; Christine set hers down in the middle of the tabletop and opened the lid.  She set the ration book beside it and her PADD with the medical exemption certificate ready to read.

Another minute and thirty seven seconds passed (Christine glanced down now and again to the time indicator on her PADD).  After that the girl decided to accompany her defiant look with defiant words.

“ _Terrasu du aitlu ra s'etek_?”  _What do you want from us, human?_

The two of them would come to understand each other.  What happened next was the first step towards that understanding, when Christine realised that the girl chose a Vulcan response on the assumption she could say what she wanted, however rude, and it would have no meaning to this Standard speaking doctor.

But just as Christine did not know that the girl had been on Earth when Vulcan was destroyed, and experienced the symptoms of _Vi’mashaya P’pil’lai’ai_ almost immediately, in front of baffled humans, so Serral did not know that the doctor had plenty of spare time to teach herself the Ambassador’s language.  That simple question gave her an opportunity to practice.

“ _Nukh’es,”_ Christine replied.  _Courtesy._

They would go on to have longer, better conversations.  For now, all that followed was a silent truce.  Serral lifted the basket off the table and turned round to fill it from her sacks of vegetables.

***

T’Praa had grown seven millimetres longer and gained two hundred and eleven grams in weight since the last time Sarek held her.  He enjoyed the greater pressure of her body resting in his arms.  She had babbled at him with her impressive new vocabulary, touched his face with her fingertips and made enough connection to perceive how pleased he was and then repeated everything she had already said.

Chibuzo brought the bottle of black castor oil to his bedside, and was about to remove the lid.

“May I?” Sarek asked.

He shifted his hold on T’Praa to free up his left hand, which he held out with the palm cupped.

“Perhaps you should rest.”

Another change: Chibuzo employed rhythm in her speech, pausing after ‘perhaps’ and delivering the last three words as an anapest with the downbeat on ‘rest’.  And Sarek had to consider again how often she surprised him when she was simply being human.

He did not raise objections.  He did not have any logical ones, and would not wish to appear disagreeable in the presence of Maral.  According to Chibuzo, the surgically altered Vulcan who had taken a seat on the other side of Sarek’s bed also lifted him out of Sybok’s hovercar and carried him on board this ship.

Sarek lowered T'Praa onto the quilt beside him.  He watched her mother pour oil into her own hand and work it through the baby’s curls. 

Maral remarked, “My mother’s family owned a _tono’pak_ orchard in Zhir’tan, and sold the oil as a treatment for hair and scalp.”

The keeper of clan Menosa’s creche had brought T’Praa straight from her bath, still bundled in the hooded microfiber robe he had used to dry her.  Maral made no effort to conceal his fondness for the child.  Sarek remained in control, processed some jealousy and self-reproach for the same.  Maral’s mention of his parents’ livelihood was a reminder that all Vulcans had lost family and needed the restorative effect of contact with new life.

Chibuzo may have sensed the some sadness in the silence.  She said, “I have used _tono’pak_ oil.  It is very effective.”

“We had three bottles in storage,” Maral said softly, “the remainder of my dowry.”

He gave Sarek a glance, as if inviting the obvious question.

“Had?” Sarek asked.

“They were broken.  And I am afraid we found it necessary to stun Sybok a second time, in order to stop him destroying anything else inside our cargo hold.”

Chibuzo became the mouthpiece for the katra residing within her.

_-Given all he has done, it is remarkable that Sybok receives your mercy.-_

“Misfortune makes him fortunate,” Maral replied.  “Vulcans are few, and the esteemed bloodlines of Surak and Gol all but destroyed.  Even T’Raan, whose mercy has been strained beyond its breaking point, has vowed she will not harm him.”

_-Or let him harm himself-_

T’Shin informed Sarek about the events he had not been conscious to witness.  Back in the desert of Nimbus III, Sybok did not have his phaser set to kill.  And he chose to  use the weapon on himself as well as his father.  Whether this was his intent or not, whether he believed his theatrical gesture would achieve some aim, was not yet known.  T’Shin could know, if she chose.  But the katra admitted she had an aversion to exploring the thoughts of Sarek’s eldest son.

***

“I think I just won a battle,” Christine called out, as she walked in and set the basket on their kitchen table.  “I have never heard of a Vulcan being careless, yet we have been given a punnet of ripe _kaasa_.  _Kaasa!_ Aren’t those reserved for expectant mothers?”

From where she stood she could look up and see the whole of their compact dwelling.  The kitchen was semi-circular and central.  All other rooms – hygiene station, their individual _shi’yuk_ and the study ( _ret-tal,_ her brain remembered the Vulcan term) branched off from it.  All these doors were open.

“Ambassador?”

Christine took a deep breath and called on her professional detachment before going to inspect.  But Spock was not anywhere indoors.

She opened the shutters and looked out onto their small garden.  The shock made her take a step back.   

The brief glance caught their neighbour V’lunnos in the act of stepping over the boundary line between her plot and theirs.  Christine’s jaw dropped as the elderly Vulcan widow walked between the rows of spinach to the tomato plants and calmly helped herself to the three ripe fruits that were earmarked for Spock’s evening meal.

Christine rushed outside without head protection.  In the glaring sunlight V’lunnos was confronted before she could get back to her own property.

 _“T’sai pudor-tor,”_ Christine addressed her, but after that could not think of a diplomatic but firm way to continue with her limited vocabulary.

V’lunnos waited a few seconds.  Then, when no more words followed the salutation, the Vulcan broke off eye contact to look down at the tomatoes she held.  Her eyebrows rose and fell.

“Without prior explanation,” she said in Standard, “what else might you conclude, but that your neighbour is a thief?”

Christine cleared her throat, feigning simple accord but she was using the time to process the fact that V’lunnos had actually spoken to her.

“ _Zahal-tor du,”_ the Vulcan woman said, as she stepped around the doctor.  Christine turned to watch her return to her own vegetable plot and then continue walking, headed towards the entrance to her own  _sha’ti._

“I need to find the Ambassador first,” Christine told her.

“Precisely,” V’lunnos replied.

And there he was, taking tea in V’lunnos’ kitchen.

“Doctor,” he said as the two women entered, “we have been waiting for you.”

The air held the aroma of baked bread, and there was _kreila_ on the table along with the radish-sized purple tubers their neighbour grew in her garden, and a bowl of spiced vinegar for dipping.  V’lunnos sliced the tomatoes onto a plate and added these to the bounty.

“Well,” Christine said, impressed.  “Is this a celebration?”

“Indeed,” Spock replied.  “With the assistance of our neighbour and her many commercial connections, we now know where Sarek is.”

V’lunnos, like any well trained Vulcan, stood with her hands clasped behind her back and betrayed no satisfaction with her achievement.

“In return,” the Ambassador continued, “I have given her the means to encrypt any messages she sends from her study.  We will attempt to contact him – after we have eaten our meal.”

“I do not have a third chair,” V’lunnos added.  “Our intention was to ask if you would bring one from your _sha’ti.”_

“I will bring more than that,” Christine said, remembering the punnet of _kaasa_ fruit.  “I have my own contribution for this little tea party.”

***

Sarek recognised the woman who appeared in the visual transmission alongside Ambassador Spock, though he had not seen her in thirty years.  It was possible V’lunnos had travelled to as many Federations worlds as he had, and acquired a status just as respected, if for different reasons.  In his mind, he could hear his phantom bond express Amanda’s delight.

_“She made my vokaya pendant.  And our rings!”_

Sarek let some of that feeling add warmth to his tone of voice, when he greeted the Vulcan master jeweller.  But they did not converse.  Ambassador Spock spoke for most of the transmission, making Sarek aware of events that had transpired on New Vulcan during his absence.

Chibuzo held T’Praa in front of the transmission screen, so that she could see and be seen.  With a little coaching, the baby obliged them and greeted her half-human counterpart.

“Spock!” she said, and kicked her feet, and smiled.

The Ambassador smiled back.  Then they returned to serious matters.

“If the New Vulcan High Council will not reconsider the child’s right to live,” Sarek said, “would they at least allow the mother a short visit to Earth?  Her family do not yet know that she survived.”

“I would not be certain of the Council’s sympathy,” Spock replied.  “And I urge you not to bring your vessel into Earth’s star system at present.  While establishing this link with you, V’lunnos and I intercepted emergency protocol messages which indicate a second aggressive action has been launched against Starfleet Headquarters in San Francisco.  We understand the USS Enterprise is in pursuit of the instigator.”

Sarek felt his phantom’s bondmate’s fear.  On her behalf he started to ask, “Do you know if Spock--,”

The Ambassador interrupted.  “We spoke briefly by subspace visual link.  At that point …,” the older version of Spock paused two seconds, as if vetting the thoughts he was about to express.

“At that point the Commander was trying to assess the threat posed by this adversary,” was all the Ambassador would add.

***

The Vulcan escape pod in ShuttleBay Three protected itself by presenting a series of questions to the potential intruder, issued by any one of seven discreet computer systems which could sense when one of their group was compromised and eliminate it from the routine, to make hacking attempts more time consuming.

Spock heard the system reboot.  A series of lights activated around the escape pod's roof hatch.  He could further complicate the security protocol by increasing the number of questions, include timed equations for solution.

But he had no intention of trying to get up from the floor.

The questions the system posed were difficult enough. 

_“Name the ancient Vulcan gods of war, peace and death.  State their rank in relation to one another, and their familiars, according to the collected legends translated by V’ton Kai Vediv in the year 8877.”_

Spock could not hear the voice that answered.  But he could feel assured, when the computer registered a correct response and selected its next test, that of all the Enterprise crew this was the only person he wanted to find him.

The security system switched dialects, and posed its second question in Golic Vulcan.

_“How old was Master Haadok when he founded the P’Jem monastery, and what were the three terms he invented to describe the disciplines practised by the first monks?”_

Spock’s blood had cooled somewhat, but his heart still beat faster than normal.  His arms and legs trembled and twitched.  Without doubt Doctor McCoy would impose some penalty upon him for leaving MedBay without proper discharge, and for threatening nurses Anand and Bristow when they tried to prevent him.

He knew he would also need to apologise to Samax Tol Tau Sigg for minor (he hoped) injuries inflicted upon two of his security officers, and the destruction of their phasers.

_“State the Vulcan Medical Institute's gene number responsible for the development of anterior tricuspid teeth.”_

He was not certain Nyota would know this answer.

“Computer,” he stammered, “re--replace the third enquiry with a question about … High Vulcan syntax.”

While the databases were consulted and a new test chosen, Spock rolled his forehead over the cold floor to relieve the heat and pain.

Then finally, he heard the hatch open and the ladder feed down in stages from its track in the roof.  He heard the contact of boots on metal descending into the pod.

And he heard her sigh.

“… Spock …,”

When he tried to turn in her direction, muscles he had strained in the fight to face down and overpower John Harrison, untreated muscles which seized up because he stopped moving, overloaded the pain receptors in his brain and for a few seconds his eyes stayed shut tight and he had to guess from the sound of her steps where she was.

He felt the back of her hand press gently against his right cheekbone and above his eyebrows.

“You’ve got to stop hiding,” Nyota said.

He disagreed, and the new position of her fingertips on his face would tell her that.  But her thoughts, seeping into him from those meld points, would not accept any argument.

It made his anger flare, even now.

“I have lost control!” he snapped.

“You are worried about Jim,” she said.  “You want to know if Harrison’s blood is going to save him.  You believe you will have to answer to the Ambassador if Doctor McCoy’s treatment doesn’t work, and you have no idea how to give your older self more bad news.”

Her words, capturing his storm of emotions and setting them in order, reduced their fury.  He noted how his breathing evened and his heart produced its beats at a rate of four per second instead of five.

“On top of that, you’ve been worried about your father.   The bond between you is not gone, but it’s been weak.  You are worried about the half-human child.”

Spock opened his eyes.  Nyota had changed into civilian clothes.  She wore her black jeans, the pair treated to fade the fabric over her knees, her black t-shirt screen printed with a Tanzanian flag.  Her hair was untied and feathering around her face.

“And you’re worried about us.”

A fever boiled up when he saw Jim Kirk’s eyes lose their animation and stare without seeing through the double glazed reactor door.  It had burned and burned and only now  – Nyota arrived and found the outlet, drained away the fire.   He was suddenly very tired.

“See?” she said, “see what it does when those worries aren’t your secret anymore?”

It was an effort to nod.  Nyota moved her hand to the top of his head, began to slowly drag her nails back and forth over his scalp.

“You are not alone, the way you were growing up.  Don’t you see that now?  The crew are just as concerned for your well-being as you are concerned for theirs.  It means you can trust them with your emotions, you don’t need to carry the weight of those because you don’t have anyone who will help.”

When he managed a weak, “Yes,” she stood up.  She pulled a communicator out of her back pocket.

“I’m going to have you beamed back to MedBay,” she said.  “But not until you do one thing.”

“W-what?” he asked.

“Look at me.”

It meant turning his neck and keeping his eyes open, simple things that had become torturous.  He knew he was not holding his head steady.

Nyota knelt again, put her communicator on the floor and reached out to help him.

“I need the two of us to exchange vows.”

Perhaps he misheard her.

“Please,” he said, “explain.”

She stroked his jaw.  “I vow this to you: if I do something that effects both of us, no matter how bad it is, no matter what the consequences, I will tell you.  I believe I owe you that much, to know the truth, even if it means I disappoint you.”

Then she leaned forward and gave him a single kiss.

“Do you vow the same to me?” she asked.

He wanted to tell her how much he had disappointed himself.  And he would, would because the journey to build her trust again was long but he could not do anything except take his first steps.

“I do,” he said. 

 

THE END

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Readers, hope this instalment of "Soul Possessions" was good for you. Here is some news about what is coming up next:  
> The "Soul Possessions" series will take a break until next June. But never fear -- a new Spyota/Spuhura series will begin, titled "Missing Pieces". This will be my vehicle for filling gaps in the "Soul Possessions" stories. Fics written for this series will probably have drabble sized chapters (300-700 words) and the stress will be on fun and sex and fluff between Spock and Uhura, a much deserved vacation from the pain and sadness of STID.  
> Oh, and the stories won't appear in chronological order. What I will do is tell you exactly which gap the story fills -- for example, I might write a note at the head of each chapter like -- "this story occurs between chapters 4 and 5 of 'The Architecture of Emotion'." That way, you could reread those chapters if you wished, to refresh your memory.  
> Look out for that in the next week or two.


End file.
